The Consequence of Choice
by Fallings Just Like Flying
Summary: In the aftermath of war with The Governor, Rick tries to find refuge for his group before the winter takes hold of the Georgia landscape. Just when they think things have settled down the sheriffs group stumbles upon two brothers, a fallen angel, an old drunk, a mother and her daughter, and suddenly find themselves mixed into a world of things far worse than just Walkers.
1. Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

**A/N: In light of tonight's episode "A Sorrowful Life" I've decided to go ahead and most the Prologue of my TWD/SPN crossover. *Don't read this next part of my authors note if you haven't seen the episode I just mentioned.* In my story, which I started writing a week ago, Merle isn't dead. . .so this is sorta AU now I guess. Also as far as the time frame for Supernatural this takes place I guess during Season 5. **

**Anyway, with that said I hope you enjoy, and I will note that if I'm not receiving a good numbers of reviews or alerts on this, I most likely won't continue. I'm pretty busy with school work, and it helps me to know that people actually want to read my work. In return I respond to all of my reviews and try to answer any questions you my have. **

**Lastly, as a disclaimer none of the following characters are owned by me. This is simply for fun. **

**Enjoy,**

**Chels**

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**Prologue:**

**Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire**

For the second time in less than a year Rick Grimes watched from a far as the shelter he'd fought for gradually melted under blazing flames. The slow moving silhouettes of Walkers set a vivid contrast to the orange glow as they lurched ever closer to where the group had taken momentary refuge. The wicked flames danced fiendishly up into the darkness of the Georgia sky, sending plumes of billowing black smoke and the wretched stench of burning flesh into the atmosphere. Everything they had salvaged in the few brief months they'd been there was gone, taken over by the heat of the devilish flames. All that remained was what the group had packed in their vehicles; which was hardly enough to survive the impending winter. There seemed to be no end in sight to their struggles. With one victory came yet another challenge of even greater toil. Their previous threat; the man who so humbly called himself 'The Governor' had fallen, but at nothing short of a price. The end of the world had turned even the most respectable men into beasts with the hunger to stay alive no matter the cost. Going into the battle, Ricks' group knew they were no match for an army composed of such plentiful, brainwashed soldiers- both living and dead. Rick knew that if there was any shot of the majority of them getting out alive, they needed a trap. A fire fight was suicide; they wanted to lure their single eyed villain inside. That was when Merle suggested using explosives. Rick wasn't sure how, but he didn't question the eldest Dixon bothers' knowledge on how to build incendiary devices using wire, propane tanks and nails. With whatever amount of luck they had left, the group salvaged the materials Merle needed, and once the bombs were complete, they were scattered around Block C with connecting wires. For whatever reason he had, it wasn't until after the group had packed what they could, that Merle explained how their greatest weapon worked. Someone had to stay behind and pull the plug. Without hesitation Hershel volunteered. That thought should have bothered Rick more than it did. Hershel had done so much for the group. He'd saved Carls life, and nursed practically everyone back to health at some point- but both the old vet and sheriff knew that in his condition he'd do nothing but slow the rest of them down. It was already a struggle to stay alive.

In the aftermath of it all, they'd lost their doctor, and their shelter. Now they stood; four men, three women, and a little boy with his baby sister- gazing at a little more of them dwindling away in the vicious flames of the prison. They were free from the ill-disposed grasp of their living enemy, only to be tossed broken and beaten into the hands of their natural predator. Even as the stood watching the fire in silence, shock and despair, Walkers from the prison yard loomed ever closer. For now they could run and hide, take shelter wherever they could like they'd done the winter before. They'd all given up living long ago; survival was all they had left in a world so devastated and corrupt. They would take it one day at a time until shelter was found and they could feel safe if only for a short time. And as the night encompassed them with malevolent shadows, they needed to move quickly, set up camp as far away from the prison as possible, and pray to God that they made it through one more night.

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**A/N: I know this is very short, but let me know your thoughts, I've got chapter one almost done and it is quite a lot longer :)**


	2. A Cabin in the Woods

**A/N: Alright, I'm posting this fist chapter so soon because I got it done, and I couldn't wait for everyone to read it. I know the Prologue was kind of dull but hopefully this makes up for it! I've also elected to use Jo and Ellen's characters because I love them so much and thought Dean needed more than just his brother Cas and Bobby in his group. **

**Anyway same still goes. . .if I don't see very many reviews/alerts I won't update as quickly/ or at all since no one is reading. It's not to be mean, I wanna finish the story and it helps knowing people wanna read it, but I'm busy too. I've got a job and college and friends that need attention too. **

**With that said, here is the very first complete chapter! I hope you enjoy!**

**Chels**

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**Chapter One**

**A Cabin in the Woods**

Dean Winchester sat alone on the hood of his precious '67 Chevy Impala with a beer in his hand and a pistol at his side. The early afternoon air was abnormally peaceful as the southern sun shown down upon him- casting its radiant warmth across his face against the slight chill in the temperature. There was a tranquility created by the tall red and orange trees that made the demon hunter that much more anxious. Although he needed calming moments like this on after everything that had happened, they still made him feel uneasy.

A lot had changed in the last year and yet for him and his brother not at all. The world was still riddled with numerous quantities of monsters, except now everyone left knew of at least one of them. That knowledge didn't make him feel any better. He'd spent his entire life dealing with the damned and supernatural evils of the world-saving those who knew nothing of them- but this was something no amount of demon hunting or ghost busting could compare. A part of him felt that all of it was his fault, that if he hadn't have been so stubborn, this wreckage around him would never have happened. Every day there were reminders of the choices he'd made and consequences brought on by those foolish decisions. That was a lot to have on one's plate; failing to stop the end of the world. With a deep sigh he took another drink from his bottle and thought back to just before the Croatoan epidemic quickly deteriorated the minds of the majority of the planet.

Neither the Archangel Michael nor his brother Lucifer was granted their wishes of using their true vessels for the fight to end all fights. Dean wasn't about to let some dick angel use him as his puppet, and he sure as Hell wasn't going to let the devil take advantage of his little brother. Ultimately their choices to refuse their fore told destiny had had a far worse outcome than either of the Winchesters could have even imagined. Despite not having their appropriate armor, both Michael and Lucifer fought until only one remained. Humanity had lost, and the Hellish creatures of the Underworld had claimed victory. With Michael's shocking defeat, the angels made a bee line back into the heavens locking themselves safely away. The only thing left as a reminder that they'd ever been among man was a very broken Castiel. When his brothers and sisters vanished, they'd left him with nothing but his vessel; he was practically a mortal. He claimed on occasion to have a sixth sense which enabled him to tell when something major was going to happen, but the fallen angel's reliance on pain pills and various smoke-able plants made Dean skeptical. The angel hadn't been himself for a long while.

After the big show down it didn't take long for everything to spiral out of control. It started with the Croatoan out-break; the demonic virus that turned the dead into flesh craving monsters. News stations reported on numerous accounts of cannibalism, then zombies and eventually to warnings of staying inside and locking your doors. Phone lines went down, electricity went out, every station on the radio was white noise. There were traffic jams on every street and highway out of town, with people who had no idea as to where they were going for safety. Overnight panic vacated entire cities, and the Croats became number one on the food chain. Next it was the Demons. With Lucifer out of the fiery depths of The Pit and at full power, Earth was the new Hell- letting his children run amuck during all the chaos.

Dean had had very little hope that he and Sam would find anyone they knew alive; but by some miracle they had. Their first instinct was to go to Bobby's, and thankfully when they arrived Ellen and Jo had been there too. The five of them stayed there as long as they could, before they grabbed what they could and drove almost endlessly through emptied cities. That was when they found Cas in a ditch on the side of the road just outside of Sioux Falls, bloody and virtually human. Over the past year they'd picked up a few stragglers, none of whom had any knowledge of the actual events before meeting the Winchesters. And sometime during the past year Dean had unofficially been named the leader of the dozen survivors they'd managed to scrounge up, which only added more weight to his already crushing shoulders.

The group had been stationed almost six months at a tourist camp somewhere in Georgia. They'd stopped keeping track of towns and cities along time ago. The group set up a perimeter around the lodging area of a couple dozen small one room cabins and so far their casualties had been on the down side. It sure as Hell wasn't a bullet proof refuge, but with a dying world around them, it was the best they could hope for.

The sudden sound of light oncoming footsteps pulled Dean out of his train of thought and he turned to see his brother approaching. Sam didn't say anything; instead he just leaned against the front bumper of the black car and kicked at the fallen dead leaves at his feet. His hand was wrapped tightly around the handle of his pistol secured in the holster he wore around his thigh.

"How's Fort Knox holdin' up?" Dean finally queried absent mindedly picking at the label on his bottle of alcohol.

Sam didn't turn around, or even raise his head when he spoke; he just kept shuffling the leaves with the toe of his boots. "Nothing too exciting. Took out a couple Croats along the west perimeter."

It fell silent momentarily and Dean finished the rest of his beer. "It's quiet Sammy."

The youngest Winchester nodded.

"I don't like it. We haven't had a major catastrophe happen in almost a week. It's shady man."

The first breeze either of them had felt all day rustled the trees around them causing Sam to look up. "I'm sure Cas would tell us if he felt anything coming."

Dean's face soured. "I don't think Hayley Joel knows what his 'sixth sense' ever feels half the time. . ." His voice wondered off and once again his thoughts ventured into the past before the end of the world.

"He's coping Dean." Sam murmured looking back to the ground sadly.

Ever since the angels left, their dearest friend Castiel had changed more for the worse than the better.

"How is popping pills and smoking pot coping Sam?" Dean flung his legs over the side of the Impala and holstered his gun on his thigh. "We're all trying to cope with this mess. You don't see anyone else looting the CVS's for over the counter pain killers-"

"Dean. . ." Sam sighed.

The brothers exchanged a long glance, before Dean finally leant against the bumper next to his brother. "I'm sorry."

Sam shrugged. "I get it. You miss the old Cas. We all do."

"I miss the old everything." Dean admitted tossing his empty bottle to the ground.

The air around them fell silent again, this time heavy enough to suffocate them both with fresh air.

"You know what I miss most of all?" Dean said, his tone sounding lighter.

Sam looked at him feigning a smile. "What?"

"Bacon cheese burgers from that diner in St. Louis." He rubbed his stomach as grinned.

Despite the world around them, they both laughed for the first time in a long while. It was a brief release from the harsh reality they'd cast upon themselves and they did their best to enjoy every second of it.

"Sam, Dean. We need you back at camp."

The boys turned their heads to find Jo Harvelle standing a few feet away. Her blond hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail with a few stray strands hanging in and around her face. Like everyone else on camp she carried with her a pistol, locked in the thigh holster she wore over her blue jeans, a knife on her belt and a riffle over her shoulder. No amount of protection was unnecessary.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked her as she began to turn away.

"Cas and Bobby are on to something."

The tallest Winchester glanced at his brother, who shrugged and trekked after Jo.

In the center of the lodging property conveniently sat the largest of the dwellings that had unoriginally been dubbed as the Head Quarters. It was the only building that was allowed a continuous flow of electricity from the generators; unless previously stated. Missions were planned under its roof, the injured were cared for and where a handful of weapons- mostly the supernatural ones- were kept. Even what the boys had salvaged from Bobby's place was stored there; which for the most part consisted of books. The rest of the ammunition was kept in one of the other cabins marked as storage.

When the three used-to-be hunters arrived inside they found Jo's mother Ellen, Bobby and Cas all waiting. Bobby and Ellen were hunched over a map spread out on the surface of the wooden table, drawing lines and circling specific spaces. Cas sat in the back on top of a book case, no longer dressed in his beloved trench coat with a glazed over look in his blue eyes. He too carried weapons now that his mojo had left him.

"What've you guys got?" Dean asked leaning on the table trying to make sense of the markings on the paper map.

"Cas thinks there's a group of something taking up residence in an old hunting cabin about four miles east of here." Bobby said pointing to the circle drawn on the map.

"I don't think. . ." Cas said dully. He'd lost the gruffness in his voice and now sounded more like his vessel Jimmy when he talked. "I know. . . "

Dean pursed his lips. "You wouldn't happen to_ know_ what is living there would you?"

Cas shook his head, not really looking at any of them.

"Awesome. . . " Dean huffed.

Ellen began rolling up the map when Sam spoke.

"So what do we do?"

"We go check it out. Kill ourselves some Croats, gank a few demons. Do whatever needs to be done so those sons of bitches don't get us."

"More than two of ya should go." Ellen said looking slightly concerned.

Dean was already tossing various supplies into a bag- a flask of holy water, jars of salt and extra rounds for both he and Sam; the usual.

"I'll go." Cas uttered lazily staggering to his feet.

"No." Dean ordered sternly. "You are obviously tripping out on something. . ."

Cas' eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

"I can go." Jo said, grabbing an extra hand gun from the shelf.

"You most certainly will not young lady." Ellen warned quickly grabbing her daughters' sleeve. "I'll go."

Jo yanked herself free. "Dean needs you and Bobby here to look after everyone else. I'll be fine."

The tension between the two of them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife, but finally Ellen relaxed and nodded.

"You come right back here if it gets to rough. All three of you." She gave Sam and Dean a long glance.

The eldest Winchester flung the bag of weapons over his shoulder, and made his way for the door. "We'll be back by sunset."

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The once plentiful green foliage adorning the abundant deciduous trees in the Georgia forest were slowly shifting into hues of gold, orange and brown as autumn started to take hold of the vast country side. There was a nip in the air that served as a constant reminder that soon winter would set in and the living conditions would alter dramatically. As the days grew shorter they all thought back to the previous winter. It had been mild, barely any snow and no harsh temperatures. There was no telling what the forthcoming season had in mind.

It had been almost two months since the prison fire, and the group had managed to secure themselves in a small hunting cabin on the rugged outskirts of town. The wooden structure was cramped and drafty, and when compared to the concrete walls and tall fences of their last refuge, completely vulnerable. They'd have to move on soon, to someplace built to withstand the elements, including hungry Walkers. For the time being they made it work, cooking meals in the fireplace, sleeping on the cold wooden floor while someone stood watch on the roof. They averaged about four or five Walkers a week, thankfully nothing more. If it hadn't been for the impending winter and the dwindling pile of supplies, the cabin seemed as good a place as any to stay.

"My turn to keep watch little brother." Merle said climbing his way to the roof with the aid of the stack of wooden crates. "Friendly old officer Rick's orders."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, knowing full well that his brother rarely listened to orders unless he'd done something wrong. "Ya got into a fight again didn' ya?"

Merle sneered. "That Chinaman don't know when to keep his mouth shut." The eldest Dixon brother sat down on the roof, back propped against the chimney.

"He's Korean ya jack ass." Daryl scoffed, jumping off the roof top his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"I think yer startin' to forget who yer real family is." Merle taunted from his post.

Daryl kept walking, ignoring his brothers' comments. Merle was family and he couldn't bring himself to ditch his own kin- even when Merle had done it to him countless times- and run off into the apocalypse with a bunch of people he'd just met a year ago. If he was honest, Rick and the group had been more of a family to him in the short time they'd known each other than Merle had ever been his entire life; so he couldn't abandon them either.

"Your brother's a real pain in the ass." Maggie commented as soon as he walked into the shelter.

"Yeah I know." He stood there awkwardly for a second clutching his crossbow. "Where's Rick?" he finally asked looking around.

"Outside around back with Glenn and Carl I think." Beth said gently rocking baby Judith in her arms.

Without saying another word, Daryl went to find their leader. A cool breeze caused him to pull his jacket tighter around his torso as soon as he walked back out the door. He could tell just by the chill in the air, the winter wasn't going to be a merciful as the previous one. The thick layer of fallen leaves covered his feet as he walked to the rear of the cabin. Merle's whistling from his perch was the only other sound besides the rustling of leaves.

Rick and the other two were where Beth had said they would be, piling logs and branches to be used in the fireplace.

"I'm goin' huttin'" Daryl announced once he'd found them. "We got barely enough food to last the week. Plus I'm tired of just sittin'"

Rick wiped sweat from his brow as he dropped a bunch of rather large tree limbs. "Alright, take Glenn with you at least." The former sheriff gestured to one of the shot guns propped against the side of the cabin, and with a nod Glenn grabbed his.

"I'll go too." Carl said.

"No, I need you here." Rick told his son.

Carl frowned.

"Listen to your old man, son. Yer a good shot. He needs ya here if any of those damn Walkers shuffle through." Daryl told him.

Without another word the Asian and the redneck started making their way into the woods when Rick told them to be back before it got too dark. Daryl promised nothing but Glenn gave a reassuring wave.

It was early evening before the pair of them ran into any trouble. Daryl had managed to pick off a few squirrels and a rabbit- which all now hung around his torso like trophies- but no game of phenomenal greatness. However it seemed they'd stumbled upon what Daryl guessed were about three Walkers. They could hear them getting closer to their hiding spot- crouched behind a fallen log. As silently as he could, Daryl pulled the string of this crossbow into position and carefully loaded and secured a bolt into place. Glenn cocked the riffle, and they both waited, hearts pounding, for the living dead to get closer. Steadily Daryl brought his index finger to his lips, signaling for the other man to stay quiet, and slowly counted to three.

In unison they both jumped up ready to fire, only to stare down the barrels of three separate guns. The five strangers held their stances, weapons poised and ready, parted only by the fallen tree on the ground. The man in the army green jacket with the heavy duffle bag over his shoulder was the first to speak.

"You Croats?"

Daryl glanced at Glenn making sure he wasn't the only one confused by the man's question. "What the Hell is a Croat?" he finally asked, aiming his crossbow at the man's head.

The man who had spoken looked at his taller counterpart seeming slightly annoyed. "Those zombie things that enjoy the taste of human flesh."

"Them are Walkers." Daryl corrected. "And no man, we ain't no damn Walkers."

The group of three on the other side of the log seemed to relax a little, but continued to keep their guns ready.

"We're looking for a small hunting cabin about a half mile or so from here." The taller man with long hair explained. "Do you know where it is?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "Even if I did, I sure as Hell ain't gonna tell you."

"Why are you looking for it?" Glenn asked.

"We heard there may be supplies there." The blond girl said stone faced. "We'd be willing to share it if you helped us to find it."

Daryl and Glenn looked at each other knowingly. "Who told you there would be supplies there?" the Asian asked.

"The people back at our camp mentioned it." The shorter man shot the taller one a glare like he'd said too much.

The longer both groups stood there silently the more likely someone was going to get trigger happy.

"Truth is we caught word that a group of something was living in it, and we thought we should check it out." The shorter man explained.

"Well there is a group of somehtin's livin' there." Daryl said. "People. Not Walkers, or whatever the hell you freaks was callin' em. Now you best be getting yourselves outta here before one of ya'll end up with an arrow through your forehead."

"Wait." Glenn lowered his gun and moved to whisper something to Daryl. "What if we take them back to Rick?" He paused and glanced at the trio. "They said they have a camp. Maybe it'd be a good idea to see if we can't work something out."

The redneck with the crossbow took a long look at the group standing opposite him. He'd always had a hard time trusting people -growing up in the environment he had- and due to the recent events that habit had gotten worse. Even though the people on the other side of the log seemed to have level heads overall, it was the shorter man's radioactive aura that really made Daryl uncomfortable with Glenn's idea. Rick and the others back in that cabin were his family, they'd already been through Hell and he wasn't about to put them through anything else.

"I don't know." He finally answered looking to Glenn. He steadied his crossbow and looked back to the strangers.

"Please." The taller man said suddenly sounding almost desperate. "We got started on the wrong foot. My name is Sam." He lowered his shot gun and gestured to the blond girl a few feet behind him. "This is Jo, a friend. And that's my brother Dean."

Sam's brother stood stone cold, gun ready with an intense glare chiseled on his face. Jo had however lowered her gun as well.

"Daryl." The redneck introduced himself. "That's Glenn." He tilted his head to the Asian boy standing beside him. Glenn gave a small smile while Daryl- like Dean- stayed focused and ready to strike if he had to.

"Daryl, Glenn. If you could just take us to this cabin, let us speak with who's in charge, we have supplies, Maybe we could negotiate something."

"Smaller words Sammy." Dean chided, eyeing Daryl. "You might confuse Davy Crockett here."

"You watch yer mouth!" Daryl spat taking a stride closer to the fallen log. "Ya know yer lucky I don't just let you have it right now Pretty Boy. Leave ya here and let them damn Walkers pick at cha."

Dean's lips curled and his chest puffed out like an angry ape as he glared at him. Slowly a smug smile began to form on his lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Before Glenn could stop him, Daryl tossed his weapon to the leaf cluttered ground and lunged for Dean. Sam jumped to restrain his brother, while Glenn attempted the same with Daryl, but not in time to stop Dean from pulling the trigger. Sharp pain sent the redneck toppling backwards onto the cool ground. A loud string of profanities rushed out of his mouth in an angered tone as he laid there for a moment. The agony was excruciating but his body was used to suppressing large quantities of pain and soon he staggered back to his feet. He lunged for Dean once again, his anger numbing the sting radiating throughout his left limb. This time Glenn locked his arms around the rednecks torso keeping him from physically attacking the man on the other side of the fallen tree- that however didn't stop Daryl from shouting.

Both men were screaming, cursing and attempting to claw their way out of their restrainers' grips when Jo fired a shot into the air. "Both of you need to shut the Hell up! Could we please try to be civil about this?"

Dean and Daryl relaxed-not expecting the sudden gun shot, and looked at her.

"It's obvious you don't trust us." She continued. "Since Dean shot you, I wouldn't expect you to. To be honest we don't trust you much either."

"At least we agree on somethin'" Daryl huffed holding his bleeding shoulder.

"But I think Sam's right. We should negotiate some kind of truce or understanding."

"I agree." Glenn said helping his friend.

Daryl sighed. "Fine." He tore the bottom part of his shirt off and pressed it to his injury. "But I ain't taken anyone of you to the cabin. If yer so Hell bent on figuring something out, I'll get Rick."

With a grunt he slowly bent over and picked up his crossbow, and began to walk away when Glenn spoke.

"I'll stay here. Make sure they don't follow you."

Daryl shook his head. "I ain't leaving you here!"

"Do you want them to follow you?"

Daryl stayed silent.

"Then let me stay. I have a gun. You'll be back before I know it."

It was quite a long time as Daryl stirred over the thought of leaving Glenn. The boy was right, someone did need to stay and make sure none of them followed him back to the cabin. There were three of them however, with guns. If they were so keen on finding the cabin, it wouldn't be hard for them to overpower Glenn despite him having a gun. He was going to have to make things a little more even.

"Put your weapons in that bag and let me have it." Daryl demanded.

"What?" Dean and Glenn asked at the same time.

"I ain't leaving my man here with three armed strangers." He did his best to tie the piece of ripped cloth around his shoulder hoping it would help to control the bleeding, and put his jacket back on. "So give it."

"No!" Dean said sturdily.

"Dean." Sam sighed. "Just do it."

Reluctantly, the three of them removed their weapons and placed them in the bag Dean had previously had on his shoulder. Once everything was inside, the shortest brother placed it gently on the log for Daryl to take. Careful not to aggravate his wound, the redneck slung the heavy nylon bag over his shoulder along with his crossbow.

"You sure about this?" he looked to Glenn before he began his journey back to the cabin.

The young man nodded. "I've got this."

As Daryl turned away he heard Deans angered, gruff voice. "Hey, you can't let the kid have a gun and leave us without! What if he shoots us?"

"We kinda owe you one." He heard Glenn say as he started back. "You did shoot Daryl."

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**A/N: Alright that was the fist one! What did you think!? Let me know! :)**


	3. The Meeting

**A/N:**** As promised, after receiving a fair amount of alerts here's the next chapter! Thank you all for the alerts and the few review I received where great! I really hope that more of you take the time to share your thoughts with me! I love hearing your ideas as well. On a different note, TWD is over until October! D: Anyway what did you all think of the finale? I won't give anything away. . . but I was actually not a sobbing mess like I thought I would be! Can't say the same for the up coming SPN finale. . .I'm foreseeing lots of tears! Anyway here is the next chapter and I can't wait to hear from those of you who leave me a review!**

**ENJOY**

**Chels**

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**Chapter Two**

**The Meeting**

The orange sun was sinking into the distant horizon as Daryl made his journey back to Rick and the others turning the once blue sky a vibrant shades of gold and yellow. On a normal day, a half mile hike through the Georgia wilderness would've been an easy task for a man practically raised in the woods. Most of his youth he'd spent literally lost among the trees, until he eventually found his way home. Carrying a strange heavy bag while nursing a gunshot in the bitter October air, uphill no less, was a new challenge for the redneck. Part of him wanted desperately to rest a while, but the hour was getting later and he wasn't about to leave Glenn alone in the woods at night. With every fiber of his being he hopped he hadn't made a mistake by going with the Asian boys' plan of letting him keep watch over their new friends. With any luck, taking their guns away from them would help to calm everyone's head. Dean seemed to be the only threat. His brother and the girl hadn't acted like complete jackasses. Now that he himself had removed himself from the game board, Daryl figured Dean had his reasons to act the way he did.

The pain in his shoulder was growing worse by the time the top of the cabin came into view. He could make out small plumes of smoke billowing out of the chimney, and the soft glow of candle light in the windows. When he rounded the top of the hill, Maggie and Carol were the first ones to see him. They both ran to his aid when they realized he'd been hurt and they did their best to help him the rest of his way.

"What happened?" Maggie probed apprehensively. "Where's Glenn?"

The two women sat him on a tree stump, and Carol went to search for any kind of medical supplies they had left.

"He's fine." Daryl groaned tossing the bag and his crossbow to the ground. He shrugged out of his jacket and untied the blood stained piece of cloth that had been used a temporary bandage. His injury burned and throbbed as he moved. "Where's Rick?" he demanded harshly as blood seeped steadily from the wound. With the tattered rags he had used as a bandage he applied more pressure hoping to get it to stop completely.

"He's inside. Why? Where is Glenn?" Maggie asked again beginning to panic. The fact that Daryl had been shot probably only made Glenn's absence that much worse for her.

Carol returned with a handful of clean bandages and began to tend to Daryl's wounds. She knelt down beside him and pressed a sanitary cloth to the back of his shoulder. "It was a threw and threw." She observed in a hushed tone. Daryl did his best to ignore how tender his flesh was, and how every touch of Carols fingers on his irritated skin shot jolts of pain though out his body. "I told ya." He said through clenched teeth. "He's fine. Now go get me Rick!"

It was obvious she was fighting back tears when Maggie finally did as Daryl instructed, and he almost felt bad for shouting.

"The wound is pretty clean," Carol noted as she finished securing the clean white gauze once most of the bleeding had surrendered. . "The bullet went straight though. You need stitches though."

Daryl carefully shrugged back into his jacket when she'd fixed him up and took in a deep breath. "I'm tired of gettin shot at." He moved over on the large tree stump to let Carol set next to him. "If I'm gonna die in this piss poor excuse for a world, I want to at least be fighting off some of them God damned Walkers." He reached for the bag he'd carried as he spoke, curious as to what it contained besides just guns.

"Who shot at you?" Carol asked softly looking at him.

Daryl shrugged. "Some trigger happy ass hole wonderin' the woods with his brother and some girl."

He unzipped the synthetic black bag and started to root through the contents just to see who they were dealing with.

"There's some weird ass shit in here." He commented pulling out two wooden stakes. "Rock salt, stakes," he held out his palm. "These look like silver bullets." The turned his hand and they rolled back into the bag. "Damn. You'd think they were going after Dracula or some shit."

Carol craned her neck slightly to see the inside of the duffle bag for herself. It wasn't until they heard footstep rustling across the ground that the two of them tore their attention away from the bag. Rick and Merle were hastening to them with Maggie close behind.

"What happened?" Rick asked as soon as he was close enough for them to hear him.

Keeping his injured arm still Daryl got to his feet. "Glen and I ran into some group lookin' for the cabin."

"They shoot you?" Merle practically snarled.

Daryl nodded, which only seemed to make his brother even angrier.

"Did they say what they wanted?"

"They really wanted to come here. Told Glenn that wasn't a good idea." The youngest Dixon explained.

"Where is Glenn?" Rick asked looking around.

"He's waitin' about a half mile back with them so they wouldn't follow me."

Maggie- who'd been standing quietly behind both Merle and Rick- shoved her way between them placing herself just inches from Daryl.

"You left him alone?! With people who shot you!?" she reprimanded. Her eyes where sharp as daggers as she glared eye to eye with him.

"He's the one that volunteered!" Daryl shouted back defensively. "I took all their guns from 'em anyhow." He pointed to the bag at his feet.

Rick knelt down to look at what was inside, and judging by the look on his face, Daryl wasn't the only one that found its contents odd.

"God damned voodoo shit in there." The redneck commented.

Simultaneously everyone moved to steal a glance at the objects hidden inside the bag along with the guns. They'd all bared witness to the end of the world and all the strange things that it had brought with it, but they all had to admit the things in that bag where on a whole new level of strange. It was obvious that the former sheriff was at a loss of words when he finally zipped the bag and stood up.

"I'll go and talk to them." He eventually said turning to Maggie and Merle. "Maybe they have a camp strong enough to stay for the winter."

As their leader started to walk in the direction Daryl had come, Merle reached out to stop him with his good hand. "Whoa, whoa, hey now. What do you mean? You ain't suggesting we stay with these people. They shot my brother." Merles disinclination most likely emanated from the time he'd spent in Woodbury with The Governor. Daryl didn't know the whole story- in all honesty he didn't what to know- but it was enough to make his big brother flinch at the idea of settling with strangers.

"It might be our only shot." Rick admitted. He looked to Daryl for a short moment as if to judge his thoughts on the matter after having been on the receiving end of their gun fire.

Despite what little he knew about them, and his own personal feelings towards Dean and the other two, his gut told him to go through with it. With a sigh he picked up his crossbow and slung it over his good shoulder, motioning for Rick to follow him.

"Where do you think yer goin' little brother?" Merle shouted.

"Ricks right. Them bastards may have shot me, but there ain't no way all of us is survivin' in that shack all winter." The tone in his voice resonated annoyance. He didn't want to go back to them, but they'd lost too many people and he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to keep the rest of their family alive.

"Boy. Yer dumber than you look. But do whatcha got to do, don't pay no mind to what your big brother thinks." Merle shook his head as he stomped off back towards the cabin.

"You guys be careful." Maggie said pulling her jacket tighter around her torso as a chilly breeze blew through the trees.

"Yes." Carol murmured. "Be careful."

Rick and Daryl gave both women a nod and a slight smile and set off into the woods as the orange sun sank deeper into the horizon.

* * *

Back in the shadow of the woods the evening temperature was rapidly decreasing as the group of four sat waiting for Daryl to return. Sam, Jo and Glenn had placed themselves on the rough bark of the fallen tree that had once split their separate parties, while Dean sat on the ground using the log as a back rest. None of them said a word as they sat either because they were equally intimidated by each other, or they just simply didn't know what to talk about.

The oldest Winchester however was staying quiet to control his mouth and his temper. Daryl hadn't left him in the best of moods after taking away his guns and all the other supplies he'd packed in the bag. But if he was going to have to negotiate something between another human being that he couldn't just shoot and get rid of, he was going to have to calm himself down. He'd already shot one civilian today, and he didn't really want to add another one to his list. Although he had to admit at the time, he wasn't sorry for clipping the pig-headed asshole that walked off with their weapons, but the longer he sat, the more he realized doing so hadn't been in his best judgment. He wasn't about to apologize though, not after ditching them in the woods- most likely crawling with hungry Croats- and leaving them with no way to protect themselves apart from Glenn and his shot gun. Dean wasn't sure what the hell the son of a bitch was thinking when he'd pulled that idiotic stunt; run off injured into the woods with a heavy sack leaving a supposed friend and three others in the woods in the middle of the evening to become food for the Croats. There was no way he was ever going to let anything like that fly again and he was an idiot for letting Sam talk him into it in the first place.

"You know, Bobby and Ellen are gonna skin us if we don't get back before dark." Dean said once he'd calmed down completely. He didn't like the quietness of the woods; earlier back at camp it had been peaceful, now it just seemed spooky.

Jo laughed humorlessly. "Knowing my mother she probably will skin me anyway for going with you guys."

Sam and Dean both nodded knowing that Jo was most likely right.

"Is Ellen your mother?" Glenn asked to keep the conversation going.

Jo turned to him with a small smile. "Yeah."

"And Bobby?" The Asian boy raised a brow.

"A close family friend." Sam explained.

Glenn nodded. "That's good you've all managed to survive this long."

"Have you got any family alive out there?" Sam inquired.

"No."

Dean's head fell, and suddenly he felt responsible. Because of the choices he'd made, this kid had no one. Dean knew what it was like not having a mother or a father, but he'd at least always had his little brother. "It sucks not having family in times like this." He said sincerely. "I'm sorry."

Glenn shrugged and looked to the ground. "I've got Maggie. And the rest of the group." He glimpsed at Dean when he paused. "They're my family now. In fact they're some of the best people I've ever met." He paused again and his expression changed slightly. "Well, all but one of them. . . "

Sam, Jo and Dean all exchanged a confused glance.

"You, ah, you talking about your pal Daryl?" Dean probed cocking a brow.

Glenn smirked and shook his head. "No. Daryl might be a pain in the ass sometimes but he's a good guy."

"Oh yeah. Real outstanding citizen." Dean scoffed moving to set on the log with the others.

Sam gave his brother a look. "You don't have much room to talk Dean." Sam noted.

Even though he knew his brother was right, Dean still gave Sam one of his infamous screw-you glares. "Hey, I didn't mean to shoot him." He defended. "He scared me. That's all."

"Since when does an unarmed man jumping at you scare you?" Jo inquired knowing both Sam and Dean had dealt with far worse things than stubborn, angry hicks.

"Since the friggin zombie apocalypse! That's when!"

Weather Dean's quick explanation was true or just a cover up to keep Glenn in the dark about what they really did neither Sam nor Jo really knew. It was probably for the best to keep them in the dark about what was really out there.

The four of them sat there a while longer – not like they could really do anything else- waiting for Daryl to return, saying nothing more. The sun was below the treetops and the sky to the west was growing portentously darker. Silently Dean debated just leaving and going back to camp while there was still daylight to take advantage of, then he remembered their supplies had been kidnapped.

"I think I see them." Glenn suddenly said standing.

The other three followed his lead and got to their feet to see Daryl, crossbow positioned firmly in his hands, and whom they only assumed was Rick flanking the redneck to the right; hand clutching the gun on his belt. They both carried flashlights, and tossed over Ricks shoulder was Dean's precious bag.

Glenn gave them a wave to signal their location and the pair returned the signal with the same gesture. Right away the new man introduced himself.

"I'm Rick Grimes." He held out his hand to the three of them and one by one they each shook it. "I understand this belongs to you?" he slid the strap of the bag off of his shoulder and held it firmly, but didn't give it over right away. "Now, I'll give this back, but I wanna talk to you boys first."

"I'm Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam and our friend Jo Harvelle." He said, slightly put off that he still didn't have his bag back. So far he really didn't have a reason to need his gun, but the thought of it not holstered at his side made him uncomfortable.

"I'm under the impression that you are looking for our cabin. Why?" Ricks voice stayed calm and collected as he began his interrogation.

Sam and Dean stole a glance at each other as if to see who was going to speak first.

"Someone back at our camp said there may be supplies inside." Sam told him coolly. "We just wanted to check it out."

"If that's all you wanted why did one of my men get shot?" Once again Rick's voice was abnormally calm.

"That was a mistake. . ." Dean started.

"Mistake my ass." Daryl scoffed. "Probably wanted me for some kind of black magic ritual after seen' whatchur carryin' in that bag of yers."

The trio of demon hunters couldn't help but to smile grimly at Daryl's ignorance.

"That's another thing." Rick noted. "What are you doing carrying that stuff around?"

Dean had hoped that when he'd surrendered the bag that no one would open it, so he could prevent himself from sounding crazy or having to make up yet another lie. He wasn't about to spill it all out to three complete strangers. They'd tired that with people right after the world turned to shit, and it had done nothing but send people running for the Croat infested hills. For some reason normal people couldn't cope with the thought of demons and zombies walking the earth.

"Look. Forget the bag." Dean said attempting to project the subject away from the black sack. "Our curfew is almost up. So if we could hurry this little get-together up; settling whatever dispute you have yadda yadda."

Dean readied himself for no doubt some harsh scolding that pertained to shooting a man and wanting to barge into their front door. It wouldn't be the first time anyway. Although what the man actually said was completely different.

"Well I wondering- if you have the space that is- if you'd be kind enough to let us stay the winter. There's eight of us, and we'd all be willing to chip in any way we could." Rick held out the hand he'd been holding the bag with the entire time and presented it almost as a peace offering. Dean took it quickly and placed it securely behind him before looking to his brother.

"You mean you wanna stay with us?" Sam asked.

"That's what he said wasn't it?" Daryl huffed.

"With the winter approaching, I fear that my people might not last long in the small cabin." Rick explained.

"No." Dean said sternly.

"No?" Sam looked at Dean, his eye brows pulled together out of confusion. "Why not?"

Dean shrugged. "We don't have any room for eight people."

"Actually it's nine if you count Judith." Glenn added.

"That's Rick's baby girl." Daryl informed laying the guilt on thick. "He's got a lil boy too. You wouldn' let a boy and his baby sister freeze to death would ya?"

Dean's cold, seemingly unbreakable façade fell hearing Daryl's comment. Neither one of them would be able to live with themselves if they let innocent kids die in the harshness of winter. In fact the thought of doing so chilled Dean to the bone. But there was still the possibility it all was lies. Bobby had said it was most likely demons staying at the cabin. Everything these people said could be a lie. Dean found himself torn.

"Do you mind if I speak to my brother for a second? Thanks." He yanked on Sam's coat sleeve and drug him a good distance away before he began to speak. "What do we do?"

Sam shrugged. "Can you let those kids freeze all winter?"

"What if they're demons?"

"What if they aren't?" he paused and they both looked back to the others.

"Okay, so we let them in. We have to make sure they aren't possessed."

"When they get to camp we splash them with holy water. Have our usual tricks prepared. This isn't exactly our first rodeo Dean." Sam said.

Dean sighed. They'd saved people their entire lives, and Sam was right. If they were demons, they had enough people who knew how to deal with them to send them back to Hell. But if they weren't demons, then they could save nine more lives from the devastation around them. At least there was some sort of silver lining after all.

The eldest Winchester brother nodded and turned to Glenn, Rick and Daryl. "Okay." He said. "We've got plenty of space and quite a lot of supplies. All we ask is that everyone in your group submit to a test before we let you in."

Daryl's face soured. "A test? What for?"

"Trust us. It's just a precaution." Sam said smoothly.

"We joinin' some kind of cult?" Daryl asked, almost smiling.

"You could say that." Dean admitted causing the smirk on Daryl's face to vanish. It was quite a moment before Dean continued. "Our site is about three and a half miles due east of here. Come by tomorrow morning. If everyone passes our examinations, we'll tell you anything you want to know."

* * *

**A/N: There you have it! Chapter two! Don't forget to let me know what you thought! **

****Also shout out to my cousin MyDarkAngel710 who is basically helping write this, and editing for me! Check out her Walking Dead fic _"We Bury Our Own"_ I helped her write it and Its sure to bring some tears to your eyes!****


	4. Preparations

**A/N: Hello my lovely readers! How is everyone coping with no Walking Dead? I myself am not doing to well, I miss my Daryl! So I keep watching old episodes and The Boondock Saints (Which I suggest to any Norman Reedus fans who haven't seen it to go watch it) and writing this to keep me preoccuped since SPN isn't on til next week. Anyway, here is chapter three, I can't wait to read your reviews and comments! And I thank each of you for your alerts/comments last chapter. :)**

**ENJOY**

* * *

_Chapter Three_

_Preparations_

The cabin on the hill was wrapped in darkness by the time Rick, Daryl and Glenn wandered back. The three of them had taken their time tracking back to make sure they didn't turn themselves around in the obscurity of the tall trees and dense shadows. The scenery was calm- no sign of the destroyed world beyond the thick foliage, or enemies of any kind. That put Rick at ease for the moment, knowing that his group was safe, and that he'd found some where they could all rest for the winter. After everything his people had been though they needed some good news for a change. He hoped that trusting these Sam and Dean characters was the right thing to do; the brothers seemed harmless enough despite accidently pulling the trigger. Rick figured everyone now a days had good reasons to be trigger happy. There was all ways something or someone lurking around the corner who could pose as a threat.

Merle was still keeping watch from the roof top when the trio returned. He sat with his back against the chimney again, still whistling to himself. The grim tune sounded eerie in the darkness of the forest with the low lying fog and the lack of moon light blocked by thick clouds. It felt like a scene straight from a horror movie. Rick called for the one handed Dixon brother to join the rest of the group inside when they were close enough for him to hear. The others went on, and Daryl stayed behind to wait for his brother to make his way down from the roof.

Everyone was gathered quietly in the dim lighting produced by the dying embers of the fire and the few small candles placed throughout the interior. Carl and Beth were playing cards in the amber glow with a deck Glenn had managed to find a while back although neither of them seemed to really be interested in the game. Maggie and Carol were seated closest to the fire – Carol gently cradling baby Judith in her arms. Both of their gazes were pulled into the flickers of the fire hypnotically as they set in the stillness. The defining silence for once held no sinister threat and was merely a sign of the seldom peacefulness they found.

When Rick and Glenn entered, Maggie tore her attention away from the flames and jumped from her spot, happily flinging her arms around her lover- pulling him close to her. Carl quickly moved from his game to stand loyally by his father's side as the Dixon brothers entered. They both waited off to the side, and Carol gave the youngest brother a soft smile.

With everyone inside, eyes on him, the former deputy sheriff lingered in the middle of the room for a moment gathering his words. "The winter is coming." He started looking to each member of the group. "And the likeliness we'd be lucky enough to have another mild one is pretty slim. Now this place has served us well for the time we've been here. It's secluded and we've had very few problems with Walkers. But I fear that our shelter won't withstand anything the coming season has to offer."

Everyone remained quiet, attentively listening to what Rick was saying. By the looks on their faces, and the few nods from some, it was obvious they shared the officers concern.

Rick continued. "Today Daryl and Glenn ran into a group of survivors. I've spoken with them, and they've generously granted us permission to stay at their camp for the winter."

All of them but Merle shared the same look of relief. He shifted slightly, obviously in an unpleasant mood, and glared at Rick. "Are we jus' supposed to forget those assholes put a bullet in my little brother?"

No one said anything, either too afraid too or waiting to hear what he had to say, but all eyes shifted to both of the Dixon brothers. Daryl held his jaw tight, letting his brother talk despite what it could mean for the rest of the group. If Merle successfully swayed them against going, there was no way they'd all make it to spring.

"Now, y'all might not be concerned with that piece of information, I however don't know if I can trust a group of strangers who shot my blood."

Daryl found himself wavering. Yes, he was still pissed that those bastards had clipped him, and therefore understood Merle's point. But a larger part of him agreed with Rick. They needed to move somewhere safer. The youngest Dixon couldn't very well tell his sibling not to stick up for him- it was nice to have someone doing so for once- but he didn't want to disagree with Rick's latest plan. Even if by chance the winter wasn't as extreme as he and Rick feared, the cabin would last one storm- if that. Mother Nature had a tendency to be cruel- he knew that for a fact. The often unforgiving fierceness of winter wouldn't be kind to any of them, especially Little-Ass-Kicker.

"It was just an accident." Glenn explained harshly. "I watched it happen."

"That don' make it right son." Merle warned.

The two glared at each other threateningly, and finally Daryl had to stop it.

"Look." The youngest brother growled, and glanced at Merle. "Yeah that asshole shot me. It was a pretty shitty move on his part. But I'm still breathin'," he paused a second to see if his statement had effectively calmed down Merle any. Once the eldest brother backed off slightly Daryl finished. "Rick is right. Even though they shot me, we have to trust 'em if we got any hope of survivin' the win'er." Like Rick, he looked to everyone in the group for some positive understanding.

"Where is their camp?" Maggie asked breaking the quiet lull.

"Four miles due east." Rick explained. "Daryl will be able to get us there. I suggest we pack our belongings and be ready at dawn."

Slowly everyone moved to gather their things simultaneously. After their green Hyundai ran out of gas, anything they had left was what they could carry, which meant it wasn't a lot. They'd ditched both the car and Daryl's bike a few miles back from their current refuge. They'd found a spot in a clearing off the road and did their best to hide both vehicles with the dying shrubbery. The supplies they couldn't carry- mostly guns and ammunition- was abandoned with it. It was risky, but they had few other options, and if no others found it, they at least had a secret stash if they needed it.

Setting his crossbow down gently, Daryl propped himself against the stone hearth of the fireplace, opposite of where Carol was sitting. He kicked his feet out in front of him and closed his eyes. His shoulder was still tender from where the bullet had pierced him and he did his best to ignore the soreness. Hopefully a few hours of rest would lessen it so he was good to go in the morning. Eventually everyone followed Daryl's lead and went to their usual spots- getting as comfortable as they could- when most of everything was packed and ready for their morning hike.

"I'll take first watch." Rick volunteered grabbing an extra riffle. "Get some sleep. Early morning will come quickly."

With his head resting against the hard stone, eyes shut, Daryl spoke before Rick could go outside. "It's gon' rain tomorrow too. Makes trackin' a pain in the ass. We'll need to get up as soon as it's light, try an beat the storm."

The officer didn't dispute his prediction, knowing full well the youngest Dixon brother knew what he was talking about. He nodded to Daryl's warning and stepped out into the cool night air. The wind was picking up and there wasn't a star visible in the sky. A dense blanket of clouds stretched across the sky ominously, providing Daryl's claim with substantial evidence. It would indeed rain tomorrow.

* * *

Dean had been right, and in all reality none of them were surprised by the lecture they received as soon as they strolled back into camp well after dark. Both Ellen and Bobby were furious. It was like the three of them were five years old and mommy and daddy were scolding them for stealing from the cookie jar. Dean, Sam and Jo sat at the table located in the Head Quarters building quietly listening to their elders insistent jeering. Bobby was his usual sarcastic 'kiss my ass' self while Ellen could have won an Oscar for her hysterical fits of rage. Cas, who was still balanced on the bookcase in the back, seemed to be the only one amused by the exchange occurring.

"You swore you'd be back before sunset!" Ellen slammed her palm onto the wooden table, making Dean jump. "Do you know what could have happened?"

Although most of Ellen's shouting seemed to be directed at her daughter Sam decided to vindicate. "We ran into some people!" he managed to get out before Jo's mother continued her admonishment.

Instantaneously both Bobby and Ellen looked at each other with matching expressions of surprise and confusion. Apparently they hadn't ruled meeting civilians into the list of potential explanations for missing curfew.

"Where they demons?" Jo's mother queried suddenly more interested in the news than the lateness of her daughters return.

"Not that we could tell." Sam stated with a slight shrug.

Bobby moved from where he was standing and sat down, while Ellen remained just behind him, standing. "What about the cabin?" he asked. "Did you at least check that out?"

Dean looked at Sam and shook his head. "Nope. That's supposedly where these people are staying. The ones we talked to, they refused to let us near it." The eldest Winchester pursed his lips and released a gust of air out of his nostrils like an angry bull. If he'd pressed harder he would've been able to get to that cabin.

Ellen's thin brows pulled together. "Why's that?"

"They don't trust us." Dean rebuked quickly, hoping to by-pass the shooting incident.

Jo shot Dean a look with a crooked smile. "Probably because you shot one of them." Seeing the annoyed look of Dean's face made her smile widen slightly.

From the back of the room Cas chuckled rather darkly.

Dean's frown deepened. "You think that's funny Bob Marely?"

"Quite. Actually." He grinned to himself ignoring Dean's nickname.

The Winchester glared at the fallen angel and finally just shook his head.

"Why the Hell did you shoot one of them?" Bobby growled.

Jo lent back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest with the same smug expression on her face. "It might have something to do with Dean's wonderful personality."

Cas snickered again and Sam did his best to hide his small smile. Dean however failed to see the amusement in all of it. "Hey. In my defense that guy was no ray of friggin sunshine either."

Jo and Sam exchanged a glance weighing the eldest brother's comment, deciding they couldn't argue his point. From what they had seen of the man named Daryl, he was virtually the southern hick counterpart to Dean. They were both hot headed, sarcastic ass holes that shot first and asked later. Their similarities would either turn into a mutual understanding- maybe even friendship- or throw the rest of the surviving would into the next apocalypse.

In the short lull between conversations Ellen positioned herself in in a chair next to her daughter. She rested her fore arms in front of her and began to speak. "So. What did you boys do?"

"Sammy invited them to stay with us." Dean fumed.

Bobby's eyes darted to the youngest Winchester with a look of confusion and concern. "How many we talking?"

"Nine." Dean grunted, still slightly on edge by Sam's quick invitation. "Two of them are kids apparently."

Ellen's motherly instincts took over and her facial features practically screamed worry. The post-apocalyptic, zombie filled world was no place for children to be raised in.

"We talked to this guy, Rick." Sam said docilely, feeling his brothers piercing eyes upon him. "He's got his son and baby with him, as well as six others. This guy promised his people will help us in any way they can if we let them stay." He paused to take in the look on everyone's faces. "We need all the help we can get guys."

The obscurely lit, single roomed cabin fell into a heavy silence. Everyone seemed trapped in their own thoughts, staring off into another dimension. Sam for one knew he had to help those people. After every wrong choice he'd made, he felt in debt with anyone that needed his help. And over all, had it not been their job to save those people who were in trouble with things no one could surely explain?

While they all kept to themselves, a clock on the wall counted each passing second with the sound of a tick. The wind was picking up outside, rattling both the single pane windows and the rickety door.

"We'll have to make sure they aren't demons." Cas uttered dully, walking from his bookshelf to the healthily stocked liquor cabinet Dean kept on hand. He removed a full bottle of whiskey and unscrewed the cap. Dean watched with a lump in his throat as he took a long swig before placing himself at the table with the rest of them.

"And if they aren't. . . " Cas took another gulp from the glass bottle. "We'll need to make sure they stay that way."

The concerned look that had been shadowing Bobby's face worsened. He removed himself from his chair and walked over to a large cabinet supplied with various supernatural objects. From one of the drawers he removed a small velvet bag.

"How many did you say they had in their group?" Bobby asked emptying the contents of the bag onto his palm.

"Nine." Sam answered.

"I only got four charms left."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. All five of them knew it was entirely too risky to let anyone within their perimeter without some form of protection charm. The others in the group were all given one to wear at all times not just for their own safety but everyone's. The Winchesters and anyone associated with them for that matter was a magnet for creatures of the damned. Without the proper amount of charms it left very few options for the remaining five members of Rick's group.

"What do we do?" Sam asked his brother.

"Either we turn them away when they get here, because I highly doubt they'll wanna split up. Or. . ." Dean sighed and pulled out his knife. "we permanently give them one."

Sam frowned, eyes locked on the sharp silver blade in Dean's hand. "Are you suggesting we carve a sigil into another human being?"

Dean sheathed his weapon shrugging. "You got any better ideas? It's not like we can drive them to the nearest tattoo parlor and get them all inked up." He paused making eye contact with each one of them before continuing his rant. "I'm not letting them anywhere near here unless we know they will stay human."

The cabin was quiet again. Bobby carefully placed the anti-possession charms back into their velvet bag and away in the same drawer, while Cas kept drinking from the bottle of whiskey. Ellen and Jo seemed to be lost in their own thoughts.

"That's one Hell of an ultimatum." Sam murmured looking at Dean with grim eyes.

It was hard to fight his older brother's logic, knowing just how unwise it would be to let nine new people in without protecting them. "You think they'll go for it?"

Dean's focus fell to the floor and he shook his head. He didn't like the idea of intentionally causing innocent people pain in such awful circumstances but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I don't know Sammy. I guess we'll find out tomorrow."

Outside a steady rain fell in sheets to the ground, muddying the walkways and the grass. The drops that poured from the bleak sky were heavy and frost bitten. Slight ripples of thunder echoed throughout the dreary sky while flashes of lightening lit up the clouds. Snow would have been more pleasant than the current form of precipitation. Rain had a way of making even the gloomiest situations even more solemn.

Dean had spent the better part of the early morning- before the sun was even up- lying on his cot staring blankly at the ceiling of his cabin. For once in his life he missed the skeevy hotel rooms, the bad diner food, and listening to the same five cassette tapes all day. Now he was trapped in what felt like a hellish military compound where he was responsible for everyone inside. It was bad enough he'd made it his job to look after Sam since he was four years old and his brother was just an infant, there was so many lives in his hands now he was going to go crazy.

Before the rain had started he wandered his way to where he kept the Impala parked. Sitting in the driver's seat he watched a steady stream of water flow down the car's windshield. His hands gripped the steering wheel, and his thumbs drummed absentmindedly on the black leather. One of his old tapes played softly against the redundant pitter patter of the falling rain. He didn't know for sure what cassette was playing- whatever he and Sam had been listening to before the world ended- but doing so reminded him of the old days. The days when it was just him and Sam and the Impala. No angels, no trips to and from Hell, no demon blood or apocalypse clawing away at their sanity. The times when all they did was gank demons, burn bones and hustle pool. That was when his biggest concern was his little brother's safety. But now it seemed that no matter what he did, someone ended up getting hurt anyway.

Adding Rick's group made nine more lives he had to watch out for, nine new souls who would be in his care for God only knew how long. The weight on his crushing shoulders worsened just thinking about it. He hoped he wouldn't fail them like he had so many others. Others like Cas.

Dean had done wrong by so many and attempted with every fiber of his being to fix whatever problem he'd caused, but Castiel was different. Cas' issues were beyond Deans abilities to heal. Once a great, powerful being was now a broken, confused, soulless, powerless, shell. Perhaps what made it worse was that whatever human traits he now possessed, the fallen angel had learnt from spending time with Dean before his Grace vanished. So many times Cas had stumbled upon Dean with some form of alcohol when the hunter was feeling his worst. Naturally Castiel was quick to pick up the bottle when things got bad. The drugs however he'd picked up on his own and Dean couldn't understand why. The hunter often found himself in pretty dark places at different parts of his existence, but never had Dean tried to suppress any of his pain by abusing such substances. The eldest Winchester hated what had become of his friend, and how utterly _human_ he'd become. There was no way Dean would be able to restore what Cas had lost, which meant he'd never see that awkward, oblivious angel in a trench coat ever again. He'd been through far too much.

Dean closed his eyes and slowly bent forward until his forehead met his hands resting on the steering wheel. The thoughts and memories charging through his head were almost physically agonizing. His breathing grew shallow as he tried to calm himself, focusing on the sound of the rain and the voices on the stereo. He needed to clear his mind.

There was a sudden unexpected sound- the passenger door- that made him set back up.

"Perimeter's Clear. No sign of Rick or his group yet." Sam informed Dean taking his usual place in the seat next to his brother.

Sam's long hair was stringy and clung to his face in black clumps; wet from the down pour outside. The shoulders of his tan coat were now a darker tone due to the dampness and there was a thick layer of mud caked onto the bottoms of his boots. At one point in time Dean would've made his brother remove them in order to keep his baby in pristine condition. Times were different now and the oldest Winchester had more to worry about than Sam getting mud on the floor board of the Impala.

"Good." Was all Dean said.

The rain had slacked off enough to improve the visibility, which tempted Dean's focus away from Sam and to the narrow covered porch of HQ. Dressed in the same clothes as the day before- jeans, jacket and boots- sat Castiel with the same whiskey bottle. The sight made Dean's expression more grave and the horrible thoughts return. Sam seemed to notice instantly.

"Why don't you go talk to him?" he suggested.

Dean looked at his brother. "About what?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "About how he's handling mortality? You haven't really spoken much to him since this all started."

Sam was right. It seemed that the only time he ever spoke to Castiel lately was always in harsh, short phrases. For the life of him Dean wasn't sure if it was due to the global crisis or because how he felt about Cas' new habits; both made the eldest Winchester upset. However, neither of those reasons was good enough for him to avoid speaking to his closest friend.

Dean sighed. "How do you think he's handling mortal life Sammy?" Look at 'im" he gestured to the man sitting on the porch. He could now make out what Dean guessed was a joint between his fingers. Not only did Cas' additions make him sad, they made the Winchester's blood boil. It was maddening to watch someone he cared about repeatedly harm himself.

"That's the same bottle from last night, and it's almost empty." Dean paused to glare harder at the fallen angel through the foggy window. "And I bet you five bucks he's only smokin' cause he ran out of pills."

A loud boom of thunder broke the silence that followed Dean's statement, and the dark sky lit up with a long bolt of lightning. The rain picked up again; there seemed to be no end to the storm.

"I still think you should talk to him Dean." Sam murmured. "He's always had a greater bond with you. Maybe you can help him a bit."

Dean sat quietly stirring over his brothers words. Even though he doubted talking to Cas would do much to stop the drugs or the drinking, he figured talking to him was the least he could do.

With a deep sigh, Dean turned the key in the ignition and lurched the car forward slowly.

"Where are we going?"

"Relax. I'm gonna go talk to Cas. I just don't want to walk the whole way. Have you seen the weather?"

He parked the 67 Chevy just off of the porch close to the path leading to the shelter. Both brothers got out and rushed for the shielding over hang. Sam continued inside, while leaving Dean on the porch with the fallen angel.

Cas was suspended on the narrow railing, back propped against the support beam on the right corner of the structure. In one of his hands he gripped the almost empty whiskey bottle and hanging from his lip was –as Dean had guessed- a joint.

"Hello Dean." Those two words so often spoken now had a different feel to them when he uttered them- or any words for that matter. The unusual gruffness had disappeared along with his Grace, and sounded even more lifeless.

"Hey Cas." Dean whispered timidly. As much as Cas needed a good talking to, discussing feelings was always a difficult task for Dean. Killing monsters was almost easier to him. "I uh, thought maybe we could talk before the others arrive."

Cas inhaled the smoking roll of paper on his lips before removing it with his thumb and index finger. Dean's stance stiffened at the sight and he cleared his throat. "Actually, I uh, I was hoping to talk about that." He pointed to the joint the fallen angel was rolling between his fingers.

Castiel looked at it for a moment then held it out in Dean's direction.

"I don't want it man!" Dean huffed slapping Cas' hand away. "I want to talk about you, and it. . ."

Castiel's face was dazed with confusion as Dean took a seat in one of the faded whicker porch chairs. All he wanted to do was scream at Cas for the way he was acting- how selfish he was acting- but deep down the oldest Winchester knew shouting would get him nowhere.

"Look." Dean stated sternly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't know where the Hell you picked up this smoking and drugs shit, but I think you'd feel a lot better if you'd just stop."

There was a ghost of a smile on Cas' lips, and whether or not he'd heard Dean, was a different story. He continued to smoke and drink from the bottle staring out at the falling rain. The Winchester had almost given up when Cas finally responded.

"The point of it Dean, is to not feel anything."

A lump materialized in Dean's throat and he swallowed quickly unsure how to reply. Those words flowed so freely from Castiels mouth; there was no hindrance from any foreign substance, it was an honest statement. One that Dean had not been expecting.

"They're here." Cas added dully putting out the burning end of his cigarette on the damp wooden railing. Without saying another word he got up and went inside.

Dean lingered however, sitting with Cas' words floating about his mind like a vicious toxin. He'd miss judged the affect mortality was having on his celestial friend. He felt himself slip a little deeper into his own misery, blaming himself for what had happened to the angel. Cas was like a brother to him, and Dean would give anything to stop all the anguish he was feeling.

The squeak then bang of the cabin's screen door opening then closing caused Dean to look up. The main group piled onto the narrow porch, and Dean stood.

"Cas said they're near the west entrance." Sam acknowledged.

Gathering himself somewhat Dean nodded. "Okay, we know the drill."

Ellen held up a silver flask. "I've got the holy water, Jo and Bobby have the exorcism spells." The three of them, followed by Cas, bounded down the stairs and into the rain making their way for the west gate.

Sam stayed with his brother. "I've got the Devils Trap." He gestured to the rolled up fabric under his arm.

In the beginning, they'd painted the demon trapping sigil on the bottom of a mat as a way to let new members in without too much commotion. They simply had to cross over to pass the test. "I figure this would be less of a hassle than just splashing them with holy water."

"Okay." Dean repeated in agreement. "Let's do this." He moved to follow the others but his brother stopped him.

"You okay?"

Dean was hesitant, thinking back to what Cas had told him. "Yeah. . ."

Sam was understandably skeptical. "You sure? You look like someone just punched you in the gut."

"I'm fine Sam." Dean warned "Now let's go."

* * *

**A/N: There you go! Chapter 3! What did you guys think? And Shout out again to my cousin MyDarkAngel710 for once again helping me edit and write. check out her stuff guys, she wrote these really awesome SPN poems that are in desperate need of reviews and praising. And while you're at it look at the TWD fic we sorta co-wrote _We Bury Our Own. _**

**Chels**


	5. Welcome to the Camp

**A/N: Okay ya'll the main reason why this chapter took so long to get up is because I was having a hard time with how I wanted to end it. I'm still not 100% happy, but this was all I could squeeze out of my writing muses for this one. This is also the longest chapter I've posted, so I'm not sure if thats a good or bad thing, but again, I wasn't sure were to end it. Anyway, thanks so much for your reviews and alerts! I'm so glad this is getting attention, since I'm really having fun with this! What has it been, 5 weeks without The Walking Dead? I'm seriously going through withdraw, and Supernatural only has 2 weeks left. Dx **

**Anyway here's the next chapter!**

**ENJOY**

**~Chels**

* * *

The Consequences of choice

Chapter four

In the time that Deans group had been living at the camp, they'd done their best to build a makeshift wall in order to keep out Croats. It stood well over Sam's head and ran the entire perimeter which was just over three and a half acres. They used whatever they could find to build the structure; abandoned cars, furniture, tree limbs, scrap pieces of ply wood. It was messy and jagged, but it worked. Most of it was even covered in barbed wire to keep out any human enemies they might encounter during their long stay. Unsurprisingly the boys kept a thick line of salt around the bottom of the wall; old habits died hard, just in case. The barricade was their security blanket, as long as the wall stood relatively strong, so could the ones residing within.

When the Winchesters caught up to the rest of the welcome team, everyone was already waiting in their predetermined positions. Ellen and Jo stood armed and ready on both sides of the small west gate, on top of the junked cars that made it up. Cas was off to the side firmly clutching the Glock 17 9mm Dean had given him. The eldest Winchester figured with his angel mojo gone, Castiel needed as much fire power he could get. Of course no man made fire arm would ever compare to what Cas used to be able to do with the simple touch of his fingers.

Overhead the rain was beginning to slack off, but darker clouds lingered fiendishly in the air farther away; threateningly. Even the weather seemed to show no mercy on the dying world. Rain was tolerable in comparison to what the winter would soon bring, but none the less just as miserable to deal with.

As Sam and Dean approached, stomping hastily through the mud, Bobby made his way to meet them. "What was taking you to idgits so long?"

"Sam was gettin' all Hallmark Card on me back there." Dean explained forcing a grin. Sam just rolled his eyes.

"Now's not the time boy!" Bobby rebuked "Give me this."

Bobby yanked the mat out from under Sam's arm and trudged back to the small break in the fence grumbling angrily to himself. Dean and his brother followed close behind gripping their machine guns tight. The old drunk placed the mat between the two cars, trap sided to the mud. If by chance one of Rick's group was possessed, the hidden trap would keep them from entering their secure compound. And if it came to it, the demon killing knife was kept close by, although using it resulted in less than pleasant consequences.

It wasn't much longer until through the heavy shadow of the thick Georgia wilderness Rick Grimes and his group emerged; lead by Daryl. All of them where drenched to the bone, cold and understandably dirty. It looked like they'd been through the trenches of World War I, beaten and exhausted, with their fire arms cradled close to them. Rick and Glenn fell into synchronized steps behind the man Dean had shot, while the remaining members followed closely. Immediately Dean understood why Rick had been so concerned about his people's survival. They looked miserable, and were in desperate need of somewhere, like the camp, to stay. As they drew nearer the barricade, their eyes ventured along its long perimeter, glistening with a hopeful gleam.

Taking on his role as leader, Dean shoved the previous conversation he'd had with the fallen angel out of his mind and focused on what had to be done. For now the people approaching his camp site were his only concern. His mouth formed into a hard line, and his semi-permeate scowl returned to his brow. Hands gripping his gun strongly, he moved to the outside of the camp hearing Sam's heavy steps mimic just behind his own. The rain had become nothing more than a cold mist haunting in the air. It created eeriness around the two groups which Dean found rather fitting for the scene about to play out.

When Rick's group finally stopped, the Winchesters did too, leaving a wide gap of mud and grass between both parties. No one said a word for a long time, they all just stared. To Dean's surprise, Daryl's glare wasn't as hostile as he would have thought after having shot him the night before. The same however could not be said for the man standing off to Daryl's side. He was a broader built man with a buzzed haircut and a square jaw. He was notably older than most of the group just from the winkles on his face. His sunken eyes held a fierce glare that fell upon the eldest Winchester with such intensity Dean could almost feel himself being torn to shreds. On his right arm he wore a bizarre looking contraption, with a sharp blade jutting out from the end of it. Dean did his best to ignore the man's heavy gawk, and looked at Rick.

"This is my group." The former sheriff finally said stepping forward with outstretched arms to gesture to those behind him. "I've spoken to them, and they've each agreed to do what has to be done in order for us to stay with you here."

The angry looking man standing next to Daryl grumbled loudly and his extreme glower deepened, this time in Rick's direction. It was obvious he didn't agree with the sheriffs comments.

"You got a problem Captain Hook?" Dean shot the one armed man a smug scowl with a cocked brow, eyes falling upon the mechanism replacing his right hand.

The man chuckled darkly in response and pointed a finger at the eldest Winchester looking to the others around him. "Looks like we got ourselves a comedian." The other members of Rick's group eyed their companion warily, while Daryl's expression seemed rather annoyed. "Tell me." The man demanded. "Are you the wise ass son of a bitch that shot my little brother?" His piercing wild eyes fell on Dean once again.

As much empathy the eldest Winchester had for older siblings watching out for their younger ones, and getting pissed when something happened to them, now was not the time or place to be getting angry. Had the situation been different, maybe Dean would have uttered his best sincere apology and explained how much he understood what it was like to take care of a little brother. It was a harder job than most would ever realize and in some way Dean respected the one armed man for taking care of his younger sibling. However, the environment surrounding them presently didn't allow much time for any heart felt bonding. The clouds above them were getting closer and ominously darker the longer they stood in the open, which also made them vulnerable to a Croat attack.

"Look, I didn't mean to shoot him." Dean said eyeing both brothers. "But we have a more pressing matter we need to deal with here." His eyes moved to Rick when he finished his remark and the other leader nodded in agreement.

"Right." Daryl's brother said in a sarcastic tone. "We gotta subject ourselves to some sorta tests. You boys runnin some kinda concentration camp?"

"Jesus Christ man, would ya shut the Hell up!?" Daryl spun around and shot his brother an intense warning glare. His action successfully kept his brother from speaking any farther, and the redneck with the crossbow turned to the Winchesters. "Why we gotta take these tests anyhow?" He asked sounding more level headed and open than his older sibling.

"It's a precaution, for everyone's safety." Sam explained rather vaguely.

"What is it we have to do?" Rick pried seeming slightly worried as to what the answer would be.

Sam and Dean shared a quick look as if to ask who was going to continue the explanation.

"It's not so much as a test really. You just have to trust us." Sam stated.

"We'll go into more detail once everyone is inside." Dean interrupted tersely. "Standing out here makes us Croat bait." In a few bow legged strides he stepped on and over the mat, stopping just within the security of the camps walls. "Come on." He instructed with the jerk of his head. "One at a time, I don't want you all pushing and shoving. . . unless you'd rather stay out there of course."

For a long while Rick's group seemed frozen in place, feet sunken in the mud. Their stone still figures appeared weary of Dean's incitement and they each looked to another in a silent exchange of opinions. The whole ordeal was taking a lot longer than Dean had been hoping. He had other things that needed to be done and people that he needed to talk to. After all, he had to fix the apocalypse somehow and standing in the sludge wasn't getting him any closer to putting things right. He couldn't help but to feel slightly anxious. Even Sam seemed a little apprehensive.

Hesitantly, one of the women from the other group stepped forward. She looked to be in her twenties and bore a striking resemblance to someone the boys used to know; Bela Talbot. Sam and Dean even had to steal second glances to make sure it wasn't their acquaintance from years ago, knowing full well of what grim fate had fallen upon her. The way she held her self was vastly different than Bela; she was sly and cunning, while the women approaching the gate was a little more feeble. She also lacked the expensive clothes and her hair was cut quite a bit shorter. As she neared the cleverly hidden sigil, everyone on Deans side held their breath. All eyes followed her moving figure until she was in, over and safe. With both feet planted firmly in the wet soil on the inside of the barricade, she looked to Dean with a blank expression.

"Now what?"

"Now the rest of them." He answered.

The Asian boy named Glenn was the next one to take the test unknowingly, without hesitation. He too was safe, and the rest of Rick's group fell into an un organized line at the entryway. Next was the little boy in the wide brimmed hat, which Dean presumed was Rick's son. Following the boy was a young blond girl carrying a baby and then an older woman with short gray hair. All of them passed effortlessly over the hidden Devils Trap, leaving only Rick, Daryl and his one handed brother to cross.

"Whatchew waitin' for Officer Friendly?" the one armed man taunted. "After you."

The former sheriff turned to the man clutching the crossbow, looking for some kind of reassurance.

"Go on." Daryl said. "I'll talk to 'im."

With a nod, Rick made his way successfully across the mat and inside the blockade, while everyone else waited uncomfortably for the final two members. For the life of him Dean had no idea why Daryl's one handed brother was being such a God damn pain in the ass. The whole reason he and Sam had created the secret mat was to make adding people to the group easier and less suspicious. People unaccustomed to the ways of the Winchesters often found being doused with Holy Water an unpleasant and equally as strange incident.

Since for the time being the weather chose to cease its spontaneous bursts of light and cracks of thunder the bothers argument could easily be heard from where they all were standing. Dean watched Sam's expression- since he was still standing just outside the gate, able to hear and see Daryl and his brother- to judge the severity of the actions to words ratio. His brother's lack of much alarm indicated what was being done were strictly verbal disputes.

"You tellin' me after what they did to ya, yer jus' gonna dive right in and trust them?" the sound of Daryl's brothers voice sneered. "You gonna become their little bitch too? Ricks already got you wrapped around his finger."

"If it means savein' our asses then yeah!" Daryl's reply was quick and stern. "Damnit Merle when you gonna learn ya can't do things without people no more? This ain't like when we was kids. . . And jus' cause things when to shit with the las' group you stayed with don' mean it's gonna happen here!" his voice trialed off. The sound of shuffling food steps across the grass proceeded. "I already told ya once. I may be the one that's walkin away. But if you stay there bitchin' yer gon' be the one leavin'." Nothing more was said and Daryl walked quickly pasted Sam, unhindered across the mat and didn't stop until he was planted next to the woman with the short gray hair. The pair of them looked at each other briefly and the woman laid her hand on his shoulder gently.

Getting a sudden peek into Daryl's relationship with his brother Merle sparked a curiousness within Dean. From what he'd just heard it was obvious things between the brothers had become a little rocky, maybe even more so since the oldest Winchester knew virtually nothing about the redneck brothers. Sibling conflict was no foreign matter to Sam and Dean, so in some whys he felt like he knew what the other pair was going through. And the vibe Dean was sensing from Rick's group made him think Merle was somewhat of a pariah. Even his own brother seemed at the end of his fuse and was growing tired of his siblings exploits. Dean didn't want to pry; it was too soon, but he wanted to know more about Daryl and especially Merle. Maybe as brothers Dean and Sam could find a common ground to ensure no more incidents like this were to happen, maybe.

"Merle can be a bit of a handful." Rick commented quietly filling the void. Daryl made a sort of huffing sound that seemed to be in both agreement and disagreement.

"If the son of a bitch is such a pain in the ass to everyone why not get rid of him." Dean asked without thinking.

"He's still my brother." Daryl rebuked firmly. "You got a brother." His eyes moved to Sam just as he was approaching Dean. "Dout you'd leave his sorry ass out in that shit even if he did deserve it."

The eldest Winchester was at a loss of words, knowing the redneck spoke nothing but truth. No matter what Sam did, Dean would always be one step behind to catch him if he ever fell. It'd been his duty for over 20 years to keep Sammy safe and as a result, he assisted in kick starting the apocalypse. But it didn't matter, he had to watch out for his little brother and that didn't give Dean any room to argue. Deciding not to comment any farther, he turned to find Merle trudging over the Devils Trap with a scowl deliberately evident on his wide brow.

Bobby and the others relaxed a little knowing everyone had miraculously passed the test; a test that should've gone down more smoothly. If getting Merle inside was such a difficult thing to do, it was sure going to be Hell when they were told about the protection sigils.

"You gonna load us into gas chambers now er somethin'?" Merle probed standing on the opposite side of his brother.

"No" Dean grunted. "But I might make an exception for you."

"Dean." Sam warned. "Stop."

The Winchester brothers looked at each other and it was silently decided that Sam should speak for a while due to the eldest brothers growing frustration.

"I guess we should start with introductions." He said with a slight grin hoping to delay the awkward tension in the air. "My name is Sam Winchester. That's my brother Dean." He pointed, and Dean waved with a false crooked grin. "Up there are our friends Ellen and Jo Harvelle. That's Bobby Singer." Again Sam gestured to each person. "And this is Castiel, err Cas." The fallen angel moved into a closer proximity of the brothers, but didn't say anything.

There was a soft array of simple 'hellos' whispered, and tiny nods with a brief moment of eye contact and nothing more.

"For those of you who don't know. I'm Rick Grimes." He draped an arm around the little boy. "This is my son Carl, and that's my daughter Judith." He tilted his head to the baby the blond girl was holding. "That's Glenn Rhee, Maggie Greene and her sister Beth." Like Sam he motioned to each person as he spoke their name. "Carol Pelestier and Daryl and Merle Dixon" He paused momentarily allowing the other group to utter their 'hellos'.

"I think I speak for most of us when I say thank you for allowing us to stay here with you."

Sam and Dean stole a look at one another. The sincerity in the man's voice was so genuine it made what had to happen next more difficult. Rick- like Dean- had been thrust into the commanding position which he knew took a toll on a man. No doubt he'd lost loved ones- if Dean had to guess a wife recently- and had to help others cope with the same issues. That itself was sometimes exhausting. Not to mention finding enough provisions, fighting off Croats and keeping them all alive. He'd gotten his people this far, so Dean knew Rick was a fighter and he hoped that the sheriff's group understood that the sigils were for their best interest.

"Don't start thankin us yet there Chief." Dean said solemnly looking at his brother.

"Yeah." Sam sighed. He looked at Bobby who was walking towards him with the small velvet bag. "We have one condition if you plan on staying." Sam uttered taking the bag and emptying the tangled charm necklaces into his palm. "We ask that you wear one of these at all times."

Rick looked to his group, resting his hands on his hips. "Seems fair enough."

The small silver pieces of metal with the starburst engraving pulled Daryl's attention to them. With narrowed eyes he stepped forward to investigate. He took one between his dirt covered fingers and turned it over a few times eyeing the charm suspiciously. Dean watched the man's face carefully studying his expression. The night before, Daryl seemed alarmed by the things he'd found in the black bag, so it was a matter of time before he stated asking more questions.

"These are like what they were carrin' in that bag of theirs las' night." He eyed both of the Winchesters shadily, but dropped the matter rather quickly giving Sam the necklace back.

"I'm guessin' from the look on Pretty Boy's face he's got some bad news to tell us." Merle scoffed.

There was a hesitation before Sam spoke and his face fell. "We only have enough charms left for four of you." He admitted.

Rick's mild expression morphed into one of complete devastation and it was enough to make Dean almost physically ill. The sheriff had had so much hope, if Dean was honest- more hope than he himself had had in years, and now all of it was gone. The color had washed out of his face and his eyes fell to the ground. Perhaps the worst part was that Rick's disappointment was shared by every member of his group. Even Merle seemed downed by the news. Seeing them made Dean want to forgo the precautions and allow the poor people in front of him a semi safe place to stay for however long they needed, but he had to be realistic.

"What are our options?" Rick finally asked when he'd gathered himself.

"Four of you can stay." Sam offered. "But Dean and I already figured none of you would go for that option. Another would be to give you the items you need; food, clothes, ammunition, take whatever you need provision wise we can give you. . ."

"Or we give four of you a necklace, and whoever remains gets a sigil permanently." Dean pulled out his knife and spun it around in his fingers before placing it back in its sheath.

The sheriffs group gawked at him with wild eyes and mildly shaken expressions.

"Look, I know this sucks." Dean remarked. "But the others living here already have necklaces and they were instructed just like you to wear them every day."

"You wear one?" Daryl asked skeptically.

In one synchronized movement the brothers yanked on the necks of their shirts to reveal the anti-possession sigil tattooed forever onto their skin. "We had ours done a while back." Sam noted.

"What's these charms of yers got to do with our safety anyhow?" Merle asked shortening the distance between him and the boys in a few easy strides.

"They word off Croats." Sam said quickly. "Or as you all have called them. Walkers."

A sardonic chuckle escaped Merle's thin lips. "You boy's got to be shitin' me. Ain't no way tiny piece of metal tied around my neck or a tattoo gonna keep our asses from gettin' bit by one of them damn things." He continued to laugh as though he had just heard the best joke on the planet.

He'd only known the guy for a matter of minutes and Dean already wanted to punch him. If they knew the truth, they'd run for sure, so for their own safety the eldest Winchester needed to keep them all in the dark as long as possible.

"Call us superstitious freaks alright." Dean barked harshly. "But no one is staying here without one of those charms, or it on their body somehow, understood!?"

The eldest Winchester looked to Rick, who turned without a word and gestured for his people to meet with him. At the same time, the rest of Dean's group huddled near him.

"What do you think they're going to choose?" Jo asked Dean.

He shrugged. "Beats me. Ol' Merle can head for the hills for all I care."

No one jumped to defend the oldest Dixon brother.

"I hope they stay." Ellen admitted. "I know it's a rash decision, but they have kids with them. They don't need to be out in that."

"It's up to them." Sam sighed. "We can't make them stay if they don't want to, especially with what we are asking of them."

They fell silent and anxiously waited for the other group's verdict. In all reality Dean felt that having a protection sigil carved into your skin was a small price to pay compared to the consequence of not having it done. But for the Winchesters, pain was something they'd dealt with all of their lives. On both physical and emotional-even mental- levels, and he often forgot that the vast majority of the world hadn't experienced any of that their entire existence. Normal people were not like him or his brother. These people were not like him or his brother. They'd all had jobs, families, lives at one point and were completely oblivious to the nightmares of the world. And because he and Sam chose not to fulfill their destinies, be it out of stubbornness or what, the once normal people in front of him had been unwillingly cast into a world of monsters. Rick's group didn't need to be put through any more pain brought on because of the Winchesters.

"Damn it." Dean murmured under his breath. In quick strides he walked over to Rick and tapped him on the shoulder. "Look, why don't we give you all the supplies you need, you can take it back to that cabin. My brother and I shouldn't make you do something so drastic."

"No." Rick interrupted. "We'll do it." He paused almost like he didn't believe he'd just spoken those words. "Besides that cabin won't last long in the winter. We're prepared to do what we have to do."

Even though Rick's words were their own decisions, Dean couldn't help but to feel as though in some why he'd already started to fail them. "Are you sure?" his green eyes met Daryl whose thin lips were in a firm line.

"I got enough scars to last me a lifetime." The redneck muttered. "but if by some chance it's gon' keep me alive, Hell, what's one more gonna do?" He looked at his brother for a long time, their eyes meeting with a dark intensity as if they were internally fighting another disagreement.

In the meantime Dean ushered his brother to join the small gathering with the jerk of his head. The tallest Winchester walked quickly across the wet grass and placed himself next to his shorter brother. "What?" he raised a brow.

"They'll do it." Dean told him.

Sam inhaled deeply, obvious that he too felt the same as Dean about what they had to do. "Okay." He sighed. "Who gets the charms?"

Almost immediately Maggie stepped forward. "Let the kids and Carol have the necklaces." She instructed. "I don't mind."

Glen pulled on her arm gently, but enough to stop her from taking any more steps forward. "No, Maggie. You don't-"

"I'm not seeing another option here." She told him.

"Hey now Missy, who says all us men have to get carved into huh?" Merle probed fiendishly. "I think we need to be fair about his. . ."

Maggie's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting that we give you one of the necklaces?"

"The way I see it, Officer Rick owes me a freebie on accounta what happened." Merle glared at Rick and waved his mechanical looking arm in the air.

"That wasn't Rick's fault!" Daryl defended. "Damn it Merle, you was the one dumb enough to cut yer own God Damn hand off. We were coming back for ya! All ya had to do was wait."

As much as Dean found the argument slightly educating and almost amusing he had to stop it before it got out of hand. "Hey!" he shouted, gaining their attention instantly. "I don't give a shit who's getting what, but can we please figure it out?"

The sheriffs group didn't speak until Carl stepped forward. "I'll do it."

Dean finally got a good look at the little boy. The hat he wore was too big for his head and so was the holster he wore around his waist. His expression was cold, much too cold for a boy his age, and suddenly Dean felt as though he was staring at a smaller version of himself. It was the face of someone who was forced to grow up too fast after being thrust into a world of countless evil. Broken, empty, and tired.

"I'll do it." He repeated. "But Maggie gets the necklace." Carl glared at Daryl's brother with piercing eyes. "Not you."

Merle began to open his mouth, but Daryl dug his right elbow into the man's side to stop him from saying any more.

"Carl. No." the boy's father said. "I can't let you do something like this."

"Listen to your father boy. . ." Merle hissed.

"I wasn't asking his permission!" Carl snapped Merle's direction causing the oldest Dixon brother once again to become speechless. Slowly the boy turned to look his father's way, his blue eyes fuming with a dark intensity.

"Are you sure about it?" Sam asked calmly with concern heavy in his tone. "We don't have any medicine to ease the pain.

The young boy's expression remained locked on his features as he nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Okay." Dean said, meeting the boy's eyes.

Morally the oldest Winchester realized he shouldn't be so quick to accept Carl's spur of the moment decision, but there was no getting around it. Sam however, couldn't seem to swallow his feeling as easily as Dean had.

"Dean." Sam muttered low enough only his brother could hear him. "He's just a kid, we have to talk him out of this."

"It's the apocalypse Sam!" Dean's voice raised an octave higher than his brothers.

"And we're still human! We can't just slice into an innocent kids arm!"

"He made his choice, the least I can do is respect it!" Dean growled.

There was a moment where neither of them spoke and just glared forcefully at one another. Dean had always been the soilder type, willing to do whatever had to be done to get the mission accomplished; even if it meant doing something that would be considered morally wrong. The eldest brother began to step closer to Rick's group when Sam finally spoke.

"What if it was Ben?"

Dean's figure froze mid step, and slowly he turned his smoldering gaze upon his brother. His jaw tightened and his hands curled into fists. Anger boiled inside of him as his eyes narrowed into fiendish slits. Rarely did Sam use such a low and painful tactic to get his points across, and it hurt that much worse hearing the words come from his younger brother. Sam knew how much Dean had cared for Lisa and her son Ben, in fact they were some of the fist people the Winchesters had looked for when the shit storm started. But like so many others, Lisa and Ben were gone. Dean liked to think they were still alive somewhere, with people who could keep them safe, but deep down he knew they were just names on a list of people he hadn't saved.

"If you won't help me," Dean raged. "I am more than capable of doing this without you."

Sam's eyes wouldn't meet his brothers; regret starting to form in his sad countenance. Castiel- who had been standing close to Dean since being introduced- looked at the oldest Winchester, his head slightly tilted to one side. For a moment Dean had the old Cas back- just from the confused cock headed expression- and it put some of the pain Sam's words had inflicted at rest for the time being.

"Come on Cas." Dean murmured. He looked to Ricks people as well and motioned for them and Bobby to follow. The youngest Winchester stayed where he was and handed the bag of charms to the old drunk as he passed.

Dean and the Fallen Angel lead Ricks' group of nine into the cramped space of Head Quarters. In a single swift movement Dean removed the machine gun from around his neck and pulled out a chair for the guys to sit in while they were being scarred.

"Who's gettin' these?" Bobby asked holding up one of the charms.

"The girls." Rick informed him. "Maggie, Beth, Judith and Carol."

Bobby passed out each necklace and they were faceted on securely around their necks and baby Judith's wrist. With all of Rick's group, as well as Dean, Bobby and Cas, lingering in the interior of the cabin it was quickly becoming claustrophobic. Dean called for Ellen to take the women around the camp to show them where they'd be lodging for however long they planned on staying. Doing so would also allow a better circulation of oxygen; however the four were rather hesitant about leaving. Carol stayed close to Daryl, same went for Maggie and Glenn, which Dean read as them wanting to stick around for moral support. The couples exchanged long meaningful glances, and eventually Ellen's kind persuasion got them out the door. Once they were gone Dean pulled out a lighter and brushed the flame over both sides of his knife to sterilize it. "Who's going first?"

The room was quite. None of them really wanted to do it, Dean knew that, but it had to be done. Risking one of them being possessed was almost, if not even more dangerous than having a hoard of Croats infiltrate the interior of the camp walls. At least with Croats all one had to do to stop them was a clean shot to the head, demons were so much harder. They were smart, crafty powerful sons of bitches that were practically impossible to kill. Even trapping them to send them back to Hell was a pain in the ass, and among the reasons why it was so important that Ricks group go along with such drastic measures. Of course, telling them why such radical agencies were so indispensable would end very badly, so Dean would continue to keep the details vague until the time was right.

Rick stepped forward, laying his jacket across the table and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. "I will." He sat down and took a deep breath.

"You might wanna bite on this." Dean tossed the sheriff a rag. He waited for some form of 'okay' from the former policeman before he began. _Don't think about it, it's for everyone's safety._ Dean's inner voice kept repeating those words over and over. He could do this, even without Sam, he had to protect these people. And even though causing them harm was the first step to keep them safe, he had to do it.

Rick gave Dean a slight nod, and he counted to three before he made the first incision. Daryl and Glenn did their best to restrain Rick from flailing from the pain while the gashes were being made. The sheriffs' face was blood red and covered in a thick layer of sweat. His uncomfortable groans were muffled by the rag he was biting down on, and they made everyone else a little tense.

"Done." Dean huffed. Along with the silver knife blade, Rick's blood was smeared on both Dean's hands and part of his shirt. The same starburst sigil that had been engraved on the silver pieces of metal attached to a leather string, was now formed out of jagged, bleeding cuts on Ricks forearm. The inflamed tissue around each scratch was tender to Ricks touch as he quickly slung the cloth he'd used to bite on over it to help stop the bleeding. He stood slowly, and placed himself in one of the other chairs.

Glenn offered to go next and just like with Rick, Dean handed him a towel and with his lighter sterilized the blade. This time Daryl and Bobby kept a hold of him, everyone knowing any assistance from Merle would be very unlikely. He'd remained quiet the entire time, not mouthing off any snide comments or demeaning annotations, the angry look however had not left his face since Dean had first laid eyes on him. The scowl Dean could tolerate much easier than anything that spiraled out of his vulgar mouth.

When Glenn was ready, the oldest Winchester counted to three before he pierced the skin with the razor edge of the blade. With every cut he made Dean felt as though a little more of him sunk deeper into the blackness of the abyss. He had to keep reminding himself why it had to be done. It helped that for the most part Glenn stayed relatively quiet while he was being scared. It was the screams that Dean wouldn't be able to get out of his head. He heard them all the time.

As soon as Dean had finished with Glenn the Asian did as Rick had and sat in one of the open chairs, using the rag from his mouth to nurse his freshly made wound. In the transition between volunteers, Daryl had decided he'd go next, knowing his brother would never willingly undertake in such circumstances. However, as he walked forward, Merle stopped him.

"Not before me Little Brother." He said sitting down. "You let me take it first."

For whatever the reason, the eldest Dixon brother readied himself while Daryl and Bobby took their places to keep him secure. Even though he'd never admit it, Dean wasn't all that worked up to be carving into Merles hide, in fact it even made his mood slightly better. However, just like the other two he handed the one armed man a towel and gave him a three second warning before breaking the skin. The way Dean seen it, if in fact Merle had been the one to saw off his own hand, having a sigil carved into the skin was minor in comparison. That evidently didn't help stop the pain from the way he practically snarled and hissed with anguish. The moment the blade left his skin longer than a couple of seconds he jumped from the chair and tied the rag in a knot around his arm. His sudden movement almost knocked Dean over and he had to steady himself. Merle watched from where he stood as his younger sibling shrugged out of his jacket, cautious of his previous injury, and finally place himself in the wooden chair.

Dean could tell Daryl's strong façade was begging to fade as he waited uneasily. His eyes never left the sharp point as the oldest Winchester readied it, and his gray-blue irises glazed over. Merle hovered behind him protectively, and Bobby did his best to work around the injured shoulder to restrain him.

"I've got you little brother." Merle whispered.

Daryl swallowed and met Dean's eyes. "What are ya waitin' for?" he hissed. He yanked the rag out of Dean's hand and stuffed the corner of it into his mouth. Hesitantly Dean began his count down, and on the second number, Daryl reached behind him with his left arm to hold onto his big brother- simultaneously farther aggravating the wound Dean had caused the night before.

While the knife marched across the rednecks tanned flesh, streams of crimson blood trickled from the fresh incisions. His stormy colored eye lids were squeezed together tightly and the tension in his body caused his veins and muscles to protrude and flex. Suddenly though his body language shifted, and he seemed as though he'd thrust himself somewhere completely different. His eyes opened and he kept them fixed out in front of him, not really focusing on anything specific. Even his muscles loosened slightly as if he no longer felt the knife digging into his arm. It was an odd scenario, but Dean brushed it off as Daryls way of getting through the sting. Every solider had their way of somehow numbing the pain.

"There." Dean huffed wiping the blood on the blade onto his ruined shirt.

Daryl flinched with every movement of his left shoulder as he slowly got to his feet. Red stained what was left of his cut off shirt sleeve from where the gunshot wound had reopened and trickled down his fore arm dripping onto to the wooden floor. Now Dean couldn't help but to feel like he was responsible for two of the man's injuries. The younger Dixon brother stepped to the side with his eyes shut and for the first time Merle held a look resembling concern on his features upon seeing the state his brother was in. "You gon' be alright?" he asked leaning close to him.

Slowly Daryl opened his eyes and rubbed his shoulder with a nod. "I'll be fine." He continued his lazy, dreamlike steps until he'd rested himself against one of the side wall of the structure, and rotated the cloth between his two injuries attempting to stop the bleeding.

Dean prepared another rag for Carl and turned to the boy. "You ready kid?"

Carl's icy blue eyes were locked with the chair Daryl had just been sitting in. It probably would have been smarter to have the young boy go first just so he didn't have to witness four others virtually being tortured. The expression chiseled onto his face was hard to read. His silence was eerie and weather it was from fear for what he'd agreed to, or something more severe- Dean wasn't sure. Whatever the reason for his silence, the oldest Winchester felt like with as much as he'd been through, whatever was haunting the boy, and Dean understood completely.

He walked in slow, phantom like movements until he sat down. He removed his hat and held out his arm. Instead of Bobby, this time Rick took the duty of holding onto his son. Almost as quietly as Carl had moved, Cas stepped closer to Dean and the boy.

"Perhaps I can help." He said sounding more like himself than he had in a long time. He pulled out another one of the chairs and positioned it parallel to the one Carl was seated in.

"It's okay." He told the boy as he sat down. Castiel held out and open palm in Dean's direction, eyeing the cloth.

Dean was unsure as to what Cas had up his sleeve, and he hoped that whatever possessed the fallen angel wasn't brought on by some form of substance. He handed Cas the rag and eyed the angel warily.

"Here" Cas handed the rag over and met Dean's eyes. Something told the Winchester the drug addicted angel was planning to use whatever angel mojo he had left to absorb some of Carl's pain. Again Castiels words drifted through Deans mind; _Always happy to bleed for a Winchester_. In his time with the boys it seemed the angel had fallen victim to the curse of the Winchesters; he'd developed the habit of sacrificing whatever he had to in order to protect someone or something. He was risking carving the emptiness within him deeper, and separating him even farther from his home to help a little boy he'd just met.

"I'm right here Carl." Rick assured his son kneeling beside him.

Dean took a moment to steady himself. During the time he'd spent in Hell, he'd deliberately tortured and tore at thousands of souls, just to subdue his own suffering. Now he was staring at a little boy, about to do essentially the same thing. By branding the boy, it made Dean feel better about letting him stay. His stomach churned inside him and he felt a lump in his throat. Because this boy reminded him so much of himself it made it so much harder, he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end, and it wasn't fun. He wished things could be different. Weather it was to ready his own mind, or for Carls sake, Dean began the count down one final time.

For a change, the interior of the cabin wasn't filled with shrieks of pain, or huffing and puffing of heavy breaths as the knife tore across the skin. Instead Carl remained almost unmoving, apart from a few jerks or flinches. His muscles were tensed and his face shown only a minor measurement of anguish. The same however couldn't be said for Castiel. The gentle hand he'd placed on Carls arm was vastly different to his other clenched fist in his lap. He did well to hide it, but Dean could tell by his rigid inert figure and closed eyes that he was in pain.

When the procedure was complete, it was Cas who toppled out of the chair instead of Carl, which made everyone jump. Using the power he had left had sucked him dry.

"Cas!" Dean dropped the knife and quickly bent down to help him off the floor. "You okay man?"

"Dean, I-I don't think I helped. I don't think my connection with Heaven is strong enough anymore." His words were hushed and slurred like a drunk mans, and thankfully no one seemed to notice what was spewing from his mouth.

"No, no." Dean said setting him in the chair. "Carls fine. What about you? Huh? You gonna be okay?"

Despite their injuries Daryl and Rick offered their help. "What's wrong with him?" the officer asked.

Again, it wasn't time for them to know the truth. Dean couldn't tell them that Castiel was once an angel of the Lord and possessed great powers, and had just channeled Carl's pain to himself. He'd have to lie again. Bobby even shot Dean a look as if to say "Think of something boy."

"Diabetes." The Winchester choked out. "Cas is uh, he's Diabetic." He looked at all their faces to see if they bought his fib. "Low blood sugar and all that."

He hoped Cas was delirious enough not to catch Deans lie and correct him. The last thing he needed was for the group to think Castiel was a mentally unstable, drug addicted, alcoholic, that thought he was an angel- which was exactly what he was. When Cas could finally sit up on his own, Dean looked at Bobby.

"Why don't you help Wilfrod Brimley here get his insulin thing taken care of while I show them the camp?" He wanted to get the remaining members of Rick's group out of the cabin before Cas started rambling again.

Rick and his group followed Dean out into the bleak weather, and walked them around showing them where everything was. He even asked Ellen to properly stitch up Daryl shoulder, and finally gave the redneck a sincere apology. Eventually everyone found their way to their living quarters to rest and clean up. Ricks group, especially the women, showed the most gratitude for having a sturdy roof over their heads and a place safe to sleep. It would be a little while before everyone was comfortable with everyone else, although Dean didn't see Merle ever warming up to anyone. That was fine with him. Rick and even Daryl for the most part seemed like men he could trust, now that he'd had a better chance at talking to them- mainly Daryl. When the time came to let them in on his secrets, he hoped they'd stay and help. The more soldiers he had to fight with, the better the chances of putting an end to all the suffering.

It was well past noon when Dean finally wondered back to the head cabin, finding Sam sitting on the wicker bench on the porch. He was fiddling with his fingers, head hanging down. Dean wanted to be mad at him for what he'd said earlier, but if he knew Sam, he'd felt even worse for saying it. Time was too precious now to stay pissed at him. After all he was only voicing what he thought was right. With a deep sigh Dean sat beside him but didn't say anything. He watched the thick clouds move in the sky as the wind blew them and the tall trees.

"I'm sorry Dean." Sam murmured a while later.

"I know you are Sammy."

* * *

**A/N: What were your thoughts! :D Please let me know! **

**And did any of you check out the new Iron Man 3 this past weekend? I loved it! I even went to the theater dressed like Tony Stark!**


	6. The Calm before the Storm

**A/N: Hello wonderful readers! I apologize how long it took to get this chapter posted! I had lots of stuff going on, plus the SPN finale left me a mess for a good two days and all I wanted to do was eat cake xD Then I got sick and my best friend left to go to Belize, then another one of my friends had a 21st birthday bash thing and it's just a bunch of random stuff that made it difficult to write continuously that you all don't care about. Anyway, this chapter is more of a normal length so yeah. Also PLEASE review this guys! The alerts are awesome and I love knowing people are reading this or are interested in it, but its your comments I love the most! **

**ENJOY**

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Chapter Five

The Calm before the Storm

The rain had stopped, and the thick gray clouds over head were beginning to disperse allowing erratic patches of soft baby blue sky to poke through the haze. Even the sun started to dance in and out of the thinning vapors, casting rich golden rays upon the dreary campsite. The ground though was so saturated that it would be sometime before the mud and murky puddles where gone. And with the harsh weather slowly fading, more and more people who'd been living on location began to emerge. Their eyes all landed upon the men as they sloshed step after step through the soaked grounds going to where Dean was leading them. People of all ages appeared from their dwellings to gaze at the newcomers. There were families, couples and even a few who stood by themselves. Just by the looks on their faces it was easy to tell they'd been hit the hardest. Eyes sunken, permanent grimace, distant dispositions, complete and utter exhaustion; Rick had seen it all, even in himself. While those few groups clung to their family, or friends, the loners lingered with nothing but their thoughts to keep them company. Rick might have lost his wife, but he still had Carl and Judith as well as the rest of the group. His people were his family and the reason he'd managed to wake up every morning for the past year and a half. Keeping them safe and alive had been his only priority since the beginning of the end. He knew the choices he'd made in the past weren't always the best, but they were never easy choices to begin with.

The sheriff wasn't sure yet if meeting Sam and Dean was a blessing or a curse, he was still trying to figure them out. They'd been kind enough to share their hospitality with a rather large group of strangers which meant a lot. It was their secretive temperaments that sent up a tiny red flag, and it wasn't just from what they'd been carrying with them the day before that made Rick slightly worried. Growing up in the south a lot of people where used to those with strong beliefs in superstitions especially in and around New Orleans. The Winchesters however where to a point where they were more than illusory, they were obsessive. Carving protection symbols into a man's arm just because it might have the ability to ward off a Walker or two was almost too much. He hated that five people he was supposed to keep out of harm's way where forced into such a drastic situation, but they'd almost all willingly accepted the challenge.

Dean showed them to an area occupied by three rental, one bedroom cabins; all only a few yards away from each other. The cluster of lodges was short walk from the main building and a good distance from any of the outside walls. It was their own corner of the campgrounds, close enough to everything but distant enough no one felt like they were breathing down anyone else's neck. Rick had a feeling that Dean had planned it that way on purpose. It might've just been done to give his group some privacy, but Rick had his money on it was so Dean could keep the newest additions under observation. To be fair, Rick would've probably done the same thing, so he wasn't going to look too far into the matter.

The members of the sheriff's group who'd been issued the necklaces were standing outside, chatting with the woman named Ellen and her daughter Jo when the rest staggered into the area.

"How you boys doin'?" Ellen asked her eyes falling upon the makeshift bandages they were donning.

Instantaneously all the men looked at their binds as well. The worse was over, and for the most part all that remained was an annoying soreness and slight throbbing.

"We'll be fine. Thank you." Rick spoke for his fellow members.

A soft smile touched the woman's lips. "All of you are very welcome. And I apologize for the inconvenience. But trust me. These boys know what they are doing." She patted Dean on the back.

Jo's glance wandered over to the youngest Dixon brother, who was still fighting with his bleeding shoulder. He'd divided the rag and used half of it for his arm while he held the other half to his left shoulder. Dean seemed to notice the man's struggle as well.

"Ellen, if you get the chance stitch up Daryl for me. Feel like an ass for makin' him bleed twice in twenty-four hours. No need to make him suffer any more than the son of a bitch already has." Dean said. Ellen showed no hesitation and instructed her daughter to bring her a first aid kit. While he waited the redneck fought the urge to comment on the last part of Deans statement, but decided against it.

"I'm sorry man." Dean told him sincerely.

Daryl pursed his lips and gave Dean a brief glare. "Whatever."

Jo returned with the white crate of medical supplies and handed it to her mother. The redneck slung his cross bow over his arm before he spoke again. "An don' worry bout stitchin' me up. I don' need yer help, had hell of a lot worse than this."

Before Daryl could walk off Ellen gripped him tightly by the arm. Her strong grasp surprised him and her glower caught him off guard. "You listen here. I ain't gonna let you go until you at least let me look at the damn thing. I will not have you getting sick or infected cause Dean decided to be an asshole." Daryl almost smiled at the woman's attitude. "Now come on. The faster we get you healed up, the better you will be at shootin that bulky thing." She pointed to his crossbow. The older woman lead Daryl off to the side, followed by Merle, while the Winchester made his way back to the main building with Jo. Maggie and Carol seized the chance to drift closer.

"Let's see it." Maggie demanded gently pulling at the blood stained fabric woven around Glenn's forearm. As he slowly unwrapped his bandage the women of the group gathered closer curious as to what had happed in the main cabin. Initially they were all overcome with mild shock, wondering what it must have been like to endure such a procedure. Despite it all, Maggie found the ability to smile slightly as she gently rewound the rag around his arm. "Did I ever tell you I find scars extremely sexy on a man?"

Glenn smirked at her comment and pulled her into a deep kiss.

"It wasn't so bad." Carl with a shrug.

"You did take it the best out of any of us." Rick patted his son proudly on the back.

When Daryl and his brother returned a short time later, Rick looked around at the structures provided for them. "Three cabins huh?"

They were much better kept than the shack all nine of them had been living out of for the past few months. Each of them had a sturdy concrete foundation, windows that shut and were not broken, and if he was correct just from his observation, doors that locked. None of the wood looked termite eaten or was separating unlike their cabin in the woods.

"Mmhmm." Carol hummed in response. "Ellen said the water doesn't work, but there are two beds in each of them."

In order to accommodate all the members of Ricks party they were going to have to group up. Three cabins allowed for a simple split; three persons per shelter, however, picking groups might pose a problem.

"Beth." Rick said looking to the blond girl holding his baby daughter. "Are you comfortable staying with the baby?"

She nodded.

Next his eyes drifted to Glenn and Maggie. It was unlikely the couple would want to split up, and after what had happened in Woodbury it was even more unlikely Glenn would want to stay in a confided space with Merle Dixon. Rick wanted to be fair and keep it three to a cabin, but he also wanted to make sure a fight didn't break out.

"Carol, do you mind sharing a cabin with Glenn and Maggie?"

"Not at all." She smiled at the young couple.

"How do you feel about staying with Carl and I?" the officer asked Beth.

"I'm fine with it." She looked to her sister for approval. Maggie nodded.

"Daryl." Rick continued. "You and your brother take that cabin." He pointed to the farthest from them. A part of him felt bad for sticking Daryl with Merle, but they were brothers and it didn't make much sense separating them.

Once everyone gathered the things they'd arrived with they made their ways to their newly assigned living quarters. The interior of the cabin Rick lead Carl and Beth into was decorated in a typical rustic theme with mounted antlers and Wild West wall paper; which was somewhat odd for a cabin in Georgia. It had been some time since the doors or windows of the shelter had been opened; all the surfaces where coated with a heavy layer of dust and the air inside was musty. As for the lay out, it was close to that of a motel room, and was a lavish upgrade from anything any of them had had the pleasure of staying in for quite some time. There were two beds, both of which came with a grotesquely patterned quilt, a small table with two chairs and a single nightstand. The three windows allowed enough light in during the day that the candles provided would only be needed at night. The floor did creek with every step, and the ghastly wallpaper was peeling around each window frame but it would suite them just fine.

Rick wasted no time at helping Beth assemble the portable baby crib and when it was complete, laid sleeping Judith inside. Carl sat on the farthest bed, holding a picture of his family in his hands. He and his parents were all smiling in the photograph, a sight he hadn't seen in a very long time. He'd retrieved the picture, risking not only his but Michonnes life as well, just so his baby sister would someday know what her mother looked like. Now he thought maybe it wasn't so much for Judith as it was for himself.

"You know your mother would've been proud of what you did today." Rick told his son sitting down beside him. "I'm proud of you." The sheriff gently patted the boys back and from under the wide brim of his hat, Carl met Ricks gaze.

"It was the right thing to do." He said softly.

"I'm sorry it had to be the way it was." Rick said.

Carl shrugged and glanced at his arm, rolling it back and forth in the beam of yellow sun cascading in from the window behind them. "It didn't hurt all that much." Idly the boy thought back to when he was sitting in the chair a short time ago. The pain and tenderness wasn't as extreme as he thought it would've been. Whatever the man named Castiel had done just by holding him seemed to have helped.

"You know, despite what could've happened I'm glad we have this." Rick took the photo from Carl's hand and looked at it suddenly changing the subject.

Carl's mind thought back to that day he almost got himself and Michonne killed just to get a picture hanging in a restaurant. His train of thought wondered then to something else. "Do you think Michonne is still alive?" he asked catching Rick off guard.

The former officer thought a moment. In the chaos of the prison fire, the mysterious woman had gotten separated from the rest of them. She was strong and capable, and Rick felt like if any of them were to make it on their own safely, Michone was the one to bet on.

"I like to think that she is." He finally answered. "Who knows? She might find this place."

Carl didn't say anything in response and the space fell into silence while Beth organized her few possessions along with Judith's.

"You go ahead and take that bed." Rick pointed to the one opposite the one he was sitting on. "Carl and I will share this one." He stood up, and placed the picture of his family on the nightstand. "I'm gonna check on the others. Don't stray too far."

When his father left, Carl remained unmoving on the thin mattress. Slowly he began to untie the bloodied cloth around his fresh scars. The bleeding had ceased a while ago but the skin surrounding each jagged cut was red and puffy.

"That looks like it hurts." Beth said meekly, placing herself across from him.

He shrugged. "Hurts more now than when it was happening. . ."

"Your dad's right you know. It was brave of you to do that, and the way you stood up to Daryl's brother for my sister."

"Merles a dick." He huffed.

Although is comment was relevant, over all it put an uncomfortable stiffness in the air and killed the slight exchange of conversation. Judith's fussing removed Beth from the sudden awkward tension as she instinctively rushed to the baby's aid.

"We're getting low on formula." She announced a while later with concern. "Do you think they have any stored on camp?"

Carl recalled his short walk from the main building to the groups' small cluster of lodges. At the time he didn't remember seeing any infants, but that didn't mean there wasn't any locked up somewhere.

"I'll go ask my dad." Mechanically the boy got to his feet and walked out the door.

* * *

All their lives neither of the Dixon brothers really had many belongings, so it didn't take hardly any time at all for them to situate their things. Currently they had the clothes on their backs, their jackets and their weapons. The motorcycle, along with Daryl's pistol and Merles stash of drugs was a good ten mile walk in the woods.

Merle was quick to sprawl out on one of the two beds. Daryl however lingered briefly taking in the space around him. The faded colors and musty odor reminded him of their childhood home. The smell of cigarette smoke wasn't as potent though. Surprisingly the cabin was quite a bit cleaner than his old house too. Suppressing a sigh he tossed his crossbow onto the other bed along with his heavy vest and jacket and went into the closet like bathroom hoping to find a mirror.

He did his best to ignore the beaten, dirty man staring back at him and focused on his shoulder. Although the injury was still sore every time he moved it, the throbbing and sting had gone away. With the newly added stitches he hopped it would heal quickly and completely stop the bleeding. After examining his shoulder Daryl's attention moved to study the uneven cuts on his forearm. The intricately painted incisions still burned like wildfire, reminding him of the lashings he'd received as a child. He pressed his palm to the markings, irritating the wound even more. The oils and salts from his hand seeped into the cuts causing even more pain. It was his sick way of ignoring the discomfort; the more something hurt the easier he could blow it off.

With a deep breath he released his arm, and brushed the stringing dark hair out of his face. When he exited the small bathroom, his brother was no longer laying across the bed.

"Typical." Daryl huffed, throwing on his jacket-vest combination again.

Merle had a knack for disappearing without any prior acknowledgements; which inevitably created a small amount of resentment within the youngest Dixon. As much as he wanted to rest a while after the events of the past two days, he needed to at least make sure Merle wasn't starting any riots. In the time Daryl had spent away from his brother he'd gotten the chance to be someone else, and for the first time realized he didn't have put up with most of Merles bullshit. Thankfully he hadn't wondered too far off; he'd placed himself at the base of an old oak tree, watching Deans people from a far with a sour look on his face.

"Yer gonna get mud all over yer ass sittin' down there." Daryl said stopping just beside him.

Merle grinned, but kept his focus away from his brother. "Lot more things you should be concernin' yer self with little brother."

Daryl crossed his arms, flinching from the slight sting of his injuries, and propped his good shoulder against the rough bark. "Yeah? You gon' tell me?"

"I think you know."

He did know. He knew what his brother was hinting at anyway. Merle had spent his entire existence picking fights and bullying. His foul mouth and drug abusive tendencies always got him into trouble. So it was no surprise that he was doing the same thing with Dean's group. Merle didn't trust the Winchesters, especially Dean and especially since he'd shot Daryl. His genuine lack of people skills and any of his other negative traits could arguably be looked over by the shear amount of protectiveness he had of his younger sibling. However, that information lacked substanual evidence since he'd spent most of his time locked up instead of sticking his neck out for Daryl.

"Is it cause they shot me? That why you don' trust 'em?"

"Them freaks ain't once shown me any reason to trust 'em." He spat.

"You trusted those damn Woodbury folks awful quick." Daryl chided, the same degree of acid in his tone.

In a flash Merle got to his feet and glared at his brother. "I did what I had ta stay alive."

"Yeah? How's this any different?"

"It ain't!"

"Than why you ben' such a pussy 'bout this whole thing!? We wasn' all gonna live forever in that shack."

Merle's eyes narrowed, worsening the glower he was giving Daryl. It was a look so familiar to that of their fathers, it made the youngest Dixon uncomfortable. Seeing Merle mimic that air of hatred their father often saved for him was frightening. Never had his older brother looked at him like that, and Daryl didn't particularly like what he was seeing.

"What the Hell happened to you huh?" He took a step closer, his heavy boots sloshing sickly in the deep mud. "You ain't been the same since you drug my ass back to that God damned tomb ol' Rick had y'all livin' in."

Daryl locked eyes with his brother, his thin lips pursed into a hard line. In that moment he realized just how much he had changed since the last time he and Merle had spent any length of time together. During the time the two of them had been estranged Daryl not only realized he didn't want to be like his brother, but he wanted to be a better person. He knew what kind of a person his father was, and Merle had ultimately grown to be just like their old man. The thought of becoming his brother or father frightened him; he wanted to be his own person. It didn't come as a surprise to him that Merle wasn't as keen on the changes as his younger brother. Daryl had built morals for himself, things he perceived as right or wrong varied greatly from Merle. Daryl could decide who he associated with and how; no matter their race or nationality. It had taken the apocalypse, but he now realized how much of a bad influence his brother had been on him. And as much as he wanted to explain it all to Merle, he knew well enough his brother would only ever see his metamorphosis as Ricks bad influence upon him. When Merle had his mind set, there was no use changing it.

"Yer a stubborn ass son of a bitch." Daryl spat coldly.

Neither brother uttered any more after that, Merle went back to sitting against the tree and Daryl pulled out what was left of his cigarettes from his jacket pocket. With a match he lit the end and pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The nicotine would calm his nerves. The billowing smoke trailed behind his head as he sauntered back and forth about the trees, keeping himself a good distance from his brother. His feet squished in the mud, and the breeze blew slightly icier. In the short time he'd been outside, the temperature had dropped substantially. He took in another drag form the cigarette at his lips and looked to the blue sky above him through the vain like black tree branches. He wasn't sure what time it was, but the sun was already beginning to sink into the heavens, taking with it, its warmth. As far as Daryl could tell the night would be a peaceful one; no thunder or lightening.

Suddenly he heard the sound of someone significantly smaller approaching, and he turned to find Carl.

"Hey, lil man."

"Hey." Came the boys dull responce. He stopped and looked around, his blue eyes stopped when they landed on Merle and his face soured.

The redneck followed the boys gaze. "Don' worry 'bout him alright?"

"I'm not." Carl said sternly turning back to look at Daryl.

There was a quiet lull, while Carl continued to look around.

"You lookin' fur somthin', kid?" Daryl asked.

"Have you seen my dad?" A genuine look of concern drifted onto his face, the first time in a while something had replaced the perpetual look of indifference on his face.

The youngest Dixon brother took one final drag from his cigarette before tossing it in a puddle. "No, I havn't." He stole a glace around just to check for himself.

"Com'on." He nudged Carl forward gently in the direction of the cabins. "Let's find 'im."

Before the two of them could begin could begin their search Castiel seemed to appear magically from a thicker part of the foliage. He looked to be in a better state than the last time either Carl or Daryl had seen him.

"Dean, uh. . . has asked me to inform you that he is holding a meeting back at the cabins. He wants all of you to be present." Cas pointed to the three shelters.

"That so? Why?" Daryl asked, eyeing Castiel suspiciously. There was no doubt something somewhat offsetting with Dean and his group, Merle had been right on that much, but Cas seemed harmless.

"I am not aware of the exact reason." He paused and a confused look creased his face. His hand rose to rub his temples. "Or maybe I did know, but forgot in the short time it took me to find you . . .and you." He nodded in Carls direction. "I hope what I did helped take away some of the suffering. It must have, otherwise I wouldn't have this splitting headache. The angels are entirely out of my reach now; otherwise I would've been able to remove the pain completely.

Daryl and Carl both looked at the man strangely as he continued his mumbling. He wasn't making much sense, going on about how his brothers and sisters left him, and how he'd lost all of his power. To make things even more uncomfortable, he kept staring at Carl.

Castiel paused again midsentence; rambling about someone named Gabriel. ". . . Perhaps I should not have mentioned this. . ."

The three members of Ricks group were now the ones staring oddly at the man. Cas' statement seemed to be only intended for his own ears, as if to verbally stop himself from speaking any farther.

"Let's just get back up there shall we?" Daryl motioned for Merle to follow and began making his way back to the others with Carl flanking his right side.

Cas' pace fell short of the other two men, landing him between Merle and Daryl. However in a few long strides, Castiel placed himself on the other side of Daryl. "The wing embellishments on your vest are well made. I miss my own greatly."

"You have a jacket like this or somthin'?" Daryl asked meeting the man's blue eyes.

A strange look suddenly came upon Castiels face as if he wasn't sure he should say anymore. His eyes fell to the ground as they walked and he muttered to himself before speaking again. "Err, yes. My jacket. . ." His pace quickened and took the lead as if to remove himself from any farther questioning.

"Poor bastard." Daryl sighed, with the shake of his head.

Despite all of Castiels seemingly superfluous mumbling and confusion, their group had gathered outside the cabins just like Cas had assured.

"There's yer pop." Daryl told Carl as soon as he spotted Rick standing at the head of their group. The boy immediately picked up his pace and went to be with his father. Dean- with his brother by his side- was already speaking to everyone when the two Dixons arrived. He seemed to be explaining more safety instructions, as well as where items were stored around camp.

". . .your group is in charge of watching this wall." Dean gestured to the barricade several yards behind the cabins. "I trust you all know how to handle weapons, and if any more than five Croats or whatever you guys call 'em; Walkers, you alert Sam or I. We'll decide how to ice the sons of bitches."

"For now, please, rest, eat. Make yourselves comfortable." Sam added lightly.

"Who do you want on watch first?" Rick asked.

Dean shrugged. "You make that call Chief. Just make sure someone is always watching the gates."

The sheriff turned to his group. "Alright. Merle, you take the first watch."

The oldest Dixon sneered, and tore the shot gun Glenn was holding away from him. "Castin' me out again cuz I ain't good enough for ya'll."

Rick shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Merle started off in the direction of the barricade. "Hell. I ain't even good enough fur my own kin any more. Ain't that right little brother?" As he walked past Dean, Merle intentionally bumped his shoulder, causing the Winchesters expression to turn into a glare. He composed himself without mouthing anything off, if only because Sam gave him a stern look.

With someone on watch, and Deans new rules discussed, the group took to the task of building a fire from firewood stacked beside each cabin. Ellen brought around a plastic crate filled generously with their food rations for the next two days.

"Got a little bit of everything in here." The woman said, setting down the crate. "Even threw in a couple six packs for all of ya."

Rick smiled at the well-stocked plastic basket. "Thank you very much."

With a grin, Ellen patted him on the arm gently. "Don't mention it. . .Really. If Dean finds out I got into his liquor . . ." her voice trailed off and she shook her head disapprovingly. "That boy drinks too much anyway."

"Don' worry." Daryl said grabbing one of the six packs from the crates. "We won' say nuthin'."

Ellen smiled again. "Well, I'll let you folks get settled in."

As the sunlight dwindled away, Carol and Maggie prepared the food they'd been issued. Their dinner was nothing fancy, but it was an improvement from what any of them had eaten in a long time. For a while the group of eight setting around the fire forgot the wicked world around them. There was a wall around them, and no threats from a crazed man with an eye patch.

"This is a nice change for once." Glenn said with his glass half full attitude. He slung his arm around Maggie and she leaned into him smiling.

"It certainly is a much needed reprieve." Rick agreed. "These people, I believe they are a blessing."

The entire group nodded in agreement, Daryl however remained unmoving.

"Merle don' see 'em that way." He finally said taking a drink from his bottle of beer.

Glenn looked through the flickering, orange flames at the redneck sitting Indian style across from him. Daryls eyes were locked with the infernos as he absentmindedly drummed his thumb on his knee. "What do you think?" Glenn asked.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Ain't concerned so much with Sam, and that other guy. . . what's his name. . .Cas? He seem harmless, just might be missin' some in the head though. . ." Daryl paused to take another drink, and stretch his legs out in front of him. "Merle ain't wrong about the older one."

"Dean?" Glenn asked.

"You think he's hiding something?" Rick tested suddenly interested in the conversation.

"I'd say so. He still ain't told us why the hell he was carrin' around that voodoo bag with him."

Ricks focus moved to the flames and his mind drifted off into deep thought while the others finished their food in silence.

"I'm bushed." Maggie whispered breaking the lull. "Think I'm gonna turn in." Without saying anything Glenn got to his feet and followed her.

It was quiet again and with a grunt Daryl stood. He walked over to the pot suspended above the dying fire and scooped what was left into his plate, pulling one of the beer bottles from the six pack. "Maybe this'll cheer Merle up." He tossed the bottle into the air and caught it and walked off into the darkness towards the barricade.

It wasn't long after that the fire turned into nothing more than just dull glowing embers that more of the group disappeared into their cabins. Rick wasn't sure how long he'd been hypnotized with the dying flames but with the fire gone he realized he was alone. He sat for a moment, and with a sigh he dumped the rest of his bottle of water on the glowing embers, extinguishing them. Things were serene, quiet; no more rain or thunder. Over head the stars twinkled in the satin black sky while thin velvety clouds drifted just above the tops of the trees. The breeze was almost blissful as he walked back to his cabin and the thought of a restful night's sleep soothed him.

Just as he turned the brass knob on the door, a loud explosion and a bright burst of light stopped him dead in his tracks.

* * *

**A/N: dun dun dun! Some zombie/Demon action next chapter since everyone is acquainted and situated! Oh. . . and I think I'm about 80% sure not everyone is gonna make it through this entire story. . . I mean its SPN/TWD cross over. People are gonna die. . . lol xD I've also posted a link to a map of the camp that I made. . . just to help you figure out where everyone/thing is at. :D**

**Anyway let me know your thoughts! Reviews are great, and thank you to all that left me one! :)**


	7. Something Wicked This Way Comes Part 1

**A/N: Hello lovely readers! Sorry this took a while to get up, action sequences are not the easiest to write. With that said, it has been long over due to have some Walker/Demon action, so here it is! I've decided to make this chapter a two parter just because this is already almost 6000 words already, and it's just the beginning. I've also broken it up into sections for specific characters. I read through it and I think it flows rather smoothly. And thank you for the awesome reviews I received If I didn't respond to you, make sure you leave me another and I will send you a personal thanks! **

**Also, I've posted a link to another map to go along with this chapter on my profile page. Be sure to check it out!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 6

Something Wicked This Way Comes

When it happened, in a thunderous rapture that would've split the heavens, he thought that the sound had resonated from the tangled inner workings of his withered mind-brought on by the hellish nightmares that plagued his sleeping thoughts. The bang was quick and distant, but powerful enough to shake the walls as Dean lay sleeping. He shuffled slightly from the quaking, drifting in and out of consciousness. It wasn't until the stench of scorched wood and burning gasoline began to fumigate the air that Dean's eyes flew open. He sat up quickly; having slept completely armed he was able to move at his maximum pace straightaway. Instinctively his green eyes scanned the other side of the room where Sam's cot was, finding it empty. He cursed under his breath and tore the first long blade he found off of one of the shelves and cinched it onto his belt. The soles of his boots scuffed along the warped wooden floor as he hastened his way to the cabin door, dodging chairs and stacks of books as best and as quickly as he could.

Outside, an orange, angry glow lit the night sky near the North Gate of camp. A thick black smoke hung heavily in the air, threatening each breath. It was difficult to assess the damage from where he stood on the porch, but the blazing flames dancing wickedly a hundred yards away made his stomach churn grossly. His mouth hung agape, taking deep breaths as he brushed a hand threw his sandy, short hair. The overwhelmed hunter was unsure what his first move should be. They'd prepared for almost everything, everything except an explosion. Mentally he kicked himself for not considering an explosion as one of their impending threats; he should've known better than anyone that anything could happen under the right circumstances. He watched feeling helpless as his people, the people that trusted their lives unto him, ran in a mad scramble in search for sanctuary. Dean was going to have to pull himself together and figure out what issue to address first if he wanted to save everyone.

His people were scared, and they needed to be kept safe. The wall now had a gaping hole in it, which meant anything could get through in large numbers without too much of a problem. On top of that, the fire would draw every hungry Croat nearby right to them. The barricade needed to be rebuilt and the fire put out. Dean however couldn't focus on any of that until he resolved the most pressing issue. He had to find Sam.

"Get the women and children into the cabins right now!" Dean shouted at a group of people crowding near a tent. "I need anyone that is a decent shot to follow me!"

He didn't wait around to see if anyone had volunteered to help him, instead he took off in a dead sprint right towards the flames. As he ran; the fire growing larger with every stomp of his feet, he yanked the machete off of his belt and griped it firmly. The sleek, silver blade glistened in the orange glow and cascading moonlight. Dean continued to sound off orders as he ran, asking for more and more to join him in his crusade.

It wasn't a surprise that as the charging army grew nearing to the burning gate, Croats started to wonder into sight. The amount of them however sent a little red flag up inside Deans mind, he began thinking that perhaps their predicament was not entirely on accident. The hunched-over, crippled, flesh-craving monsters moved in herds of ten to fifteen; far too many at a time to have wondered in from the woods. Not once had so many been spotted at a time around the perimeter. With men backing him up, taking down a heard of that size wasn't too difficult. Dean's razor sharp blade easily pierced the decaying, rotten skulls of the zombies. Most of the men and women following him used large tree branches or baseball bats, splitting open festering heads with one swift swoop. The few who had guns used them, with one clean shot to the monsters brain, the dead fell. Altogether the beginning of the battle was far too easy, and he knew better than to think it wasn't going to get any worse.

In as rapid swish, Dean crashed his blood stained machete into a grotesque female creature, splitting her skull and rendering her motionless simultaneously. From where he stood and the increasing temperature around him, he could tell he was getting closer to what used to be the North Gate. In the lull of chaos and attackers, he stood his feet sinking in the mud looking through the smog for his little brother.

"Sam!" he hollered, scanning the faces running past him frantically. "Sammy!"

This time a male Croat came after him upon hearing his shouts. The monster caught the oldest Winchester off guard and tackled him to the ground. Decaying fingers tore at the fabric of Dean's shirt, and he struggled to get away. His fall had caused him to drop his sharp weapon, and the MP5A3 wrapped around him was unreachable having landed on it. He grunted and kicked, doing everything he could to keep the monsters poisonous bite out of reach.

"GAH! Get the Hell offa me you ugly son of a bitch!" Mustering up as much strength as he could, Dean kicked the squirming figure and freed himself long enough to reach his pistol and shoot the heathen right between the eyes. He quickly holstered the weapon and crawled to snatch his machete off of the ground. He wasn't about to let one of those creatures be the end of him. He'd lived through too much to have a mindless man eating dead person end him once and for all.

"Dean?"

The second he heard his name he hopped to his feet ready to attack after his adrenaline rush.

"Dean!" Sam's giant figure suddenly wrapped around him for a few brief seconds, causing him to jump.

"Dammit man, I woke up and you were gone!" Dean scolded.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Another herd of Croats shuffled their way into sight cutting the brothers reunion short. Sam and Dean stiffened and positioned themselves back to back with their weapons drawn and ready.

"Any idea what the hell is going on?" Dean asked picking off another Croat. Sam didn't respond immediately, consumed with fighting off his own attacker.

"I'm not sure. I was walking the perimeter when it happened." Sam explained.

The two continued to duel with the dead, aided by those that had accompanied Dean from the start. Neither of them could tell how many of their own where falling, but it was evident from the erratic tortured screams that not everyone was going to make it through the battle alive. Soon the number of Croats started to outdo the fighters, making Dean almost certain that the explosion was no accident. Someone or something had caused the blast and unleashed an untold amount of the walking dead upon them.

"We've got to bottle neck this somehow." Dean said. "They are coming in too fast and we aren't stopping all of 'em."

Both brothers had given up using their blades and started using their pistols to help control how many were making their way into camp. Shots sounded one after another as more of their rotten corpses hit the wet ground.

"Where did they all come from."

"Beats me. One things for sure, this entire thing is fishy."

"You can say that again."

Dean looked to find Bobby and Jo standing in a similar stance just off to their side. They too were using their hand guns to fight off the monsters. It had been Bobby who had spoken. "Ain't we ever gonna get a night's sleep?" he added ramming an iron rod he was holding in his other hand through a dead man's jaw and out the top of his head.

"I need to find my mom." Jo stated concern clear on her pale face.

Jo's distress suddenly reminded Dean of the other issue he needed to take care of and he once again began to look around.

"Anybody seen Cas?"

They all three responded with a brief 'no' and continued to fight.

"Dammit!" Dean cursed. As much as he needed to stay and help Sam, he needed to find Castiel. Without his angel powers Cas wasn't nearly as skilled as Sam or Dean. The fallen angel could handle a few on his own, but their current situation was so much more than just one or two. Dean wasn't going to leave him as Croat bait. Cas had done too much for him, and he had done so little in return. He needed to help Cas however he could even if it meant letting Sam out of his sight for a while.

"Jo." Dean said after the ring of his gunshot sounded. "You go find your mom, take someone with you." He gestured to those around them fighting. "You find her and come straight back here. Sam, Bobby. You two are in charge of this area. Do whatever you gotta do to stop those dead bastards understand?"

They all three nodded.

"I'm gonna go look for Cas. Make sure he's okay. Then I'll be right back here."

* * *

Rick remained motionless as he watched in dismay as a fireball rose from the tops of the trees and dissipate into the cool night air. The sudden boom immediately lured others from their tents and cabins. The luminescent glow from the fireball shone brightly upon their astonished faces in the darkness as they all stood watching blindly. Suddenly Rick found himself back on the hill overlooking the prison his group had once called a home. He thought back to when he watched a bit more of them burn away in the wicked flames and once again it seemed as though his group would have to relive it. He couldn't put his people through much more.

There was the sound of a squeak as Carl and Beth poked their heads out of the door to see what all of the fuss was about. It looked as though neither of them had been asleep when Rick caught a look at them; which wasn't surprising since everyone seemed to have trouble sleeping now a days.

"Dad what's going on?" Carl asked looking in the direction of the orange glow.

Sight of the carnage was blocked by the uneven terrain as well as the roof of the Head Quarters building. Rick doubted that the explosion had simply been some sort of accident judging by growing number of alarmed screams farther towards the danger zone. Those screams inevitably resulted in others nearby to shout and scatter like roaches. It was then that Rick caught sight of three familiar faces scrambling his direction from his left. Glenn, followed closely by Maggie and Carol, all jogged across the saturated ground and onto the wooden stoop Rick and the kids where standing on.

"Do you have any idea what the Hell that was?" Glenn asked.

Rick shook his head. "I'm not sure."

"It sounded like an explosion." Carol said with concern, looking off into the distance.

"I think it was. I saw the fireball. I just don't know what exploded." The former sheriff told them.

The group looked to the north, unsure what they should do. Would the Winchesters want them involved? Did they want their help? Sam had mentioned something about needing all the help they could get, but Dean hadn't covered what to do in case an explosion occurred. The longer he stood there however the more Rick realized he wasn't going to just sit around.

Glenn seemed to feel the same way. "I'll go check it out."

Maggie gripped his shirt firmly. "I'll go with you."

"No, You stay with your sister. You're all she has now." He told her. "I'll be fine." He kissed her quickly, ran back to the cabin and emerged a few moments later armed and ready. He glanced at Rick and the others before sprinting towards the direction of the explosion.

Those that remained watched and waited, all while Rick felt more and more compelled to help in some way. He'd given his word that his people would help for letting them stay there. And even though Rick hadn't received any indication on whether or not the older of the two Winchesters wanted his peoples help, the sheriff couldn't control himself any longer. Without saying a word he breezed past Carl and Beth in the doorway and went to retrieve his machete and Colt Python. The sound of Carls boots brushing across the floor caught his ears and he turned to find his son loading his own pistol.

"I want you to stay here." Rick demanded firmly.

"But-"

"No." Ricks glare softened and moved to his daughter sleeping blissfully in the crib a few feet away. "She'll need her brother. . ."

He didn't have to finish his sentence for Carl to grasp what his father was implying. Rick and Carl where the only family Judith had left, should something happen to Rick, Carl needed to be around to care for her. The boy followed his father's leer, his eyes falling upon his sister. She was the epitome of innocence in a world riddled with countless evil. She bore no hatred or angst, suffered no pain or depression, she only felt the love bestowed upon her by everyone around her.

On his way out the door, Rick gave the boy a sturdy pat on the back, telling him once again to stay inside. When Rick found them, now standing in the grass, Maggie and Carol where armed with their own machetes and a shot gun. As he walked to meet them he began to realize that the scene around them was growing more and more chaotic. Not far from their little group of cabins were a cluster of tents all of which were rapidly being overrun by walkers. It also put their group in trouble with how close in proximity the dead creatures were already. Rick instinctively pulled out his gun.

"You both keep a watch on the cabins. If it gets too bad, lock yourselves inside and don't make a sound."

"What about Daryl?" Carol asked.

In the unexpected turn of events Rick had forgotten about the Dixon brothers. The last time he'd seen Merle was when he grumbled off angrily into the woods. Daryl however was MIA. Rick quickly jogged over to their cabin on the slight chance that one of them was in it asleep. It was slightly unnerving when he didn't receive an answer; having either of them along to help would have been beneficial.

"Was he in there?" Carol asked sounding worried.

Rick shook his head. "No. Last I saw of him he was taking a plate of food to Merle." He paused and looked off into the trees Daryl had disappeared into a while ago.

The Dixons where hunters, survivalists. They knew the woods better than anyone. If that was indeed where they were, and Rick was almost certain it was, there wasn't a doubt they would be fine getting to safety.

More screams echoed close by reminding Rick that time was of the essence.

"You tell Daryl and Merle were I went, I'm sure they'll turn up soon."

Both the women nodded, and Rick went to help the people nearby the best he could.

Carol and Maggie exchanged a long glance, both full of disquiet. It was just their luck to have a beacon of light; the campsite- that promised sanctuary- inevitably cause them more harm than good. The prison had been the same and it too ended in flames, hopefully this fire wouldn't claim lives. Neither of them was sure how many more friends they could lose before going insane. There were so few of them now just thinking about it was sickening.

Eventually Maggie, Beth and Carol all sat themselves on the small stoop outside Ricks cabin, keeping their eyes open for a Walker to come after them. Maggie's leg tapped anxiously, her eyes always moving back to the direction of the fire- the direction Glenn had gone- every so often. It was killing her not being with him, but as she sat there holding her sisters hand tight she knew even more Glenn was right, she couldn't leave Beth.

The squeak of the door opening behind them briefly stole their attention as Carl stepped onto the wooden platform. He'd armed himself with his gun and machete.

"Where you think you're going?" Maggie asked.

Carl jumped down the two steps and landed on the muddy grass. "To help my father!"

Before anyone could stop him, the boy ran off until his small figure was consumed by the dark of night and thickening cloud of smog.

* * *

Despite being mortal for well over a year, Castiel still found some human habits hard to keep; such as sleep. He wondered if it had something to do with the horrible dreams he had when he managed a few hours here or there, or if maybe it was more because he'd lived eons without needing it. He'd tried sleeping pills, which worked on occasion, and only ever resulted in nightmares. He'd called it quits with the whisky for a while, finding that the drink did little to help his situation; all the alcohol did was subdue his self-loathing for a while. Instead he'd turned to nature- what was left of it, hoping to find solace amongst the patch of trees beside his cabin. He'd secluded himself in the middle of the thicket, lying on the damp grass watching the twinkling stars above him. Stars were the only things that didn't change between heaven and earth. The grass was greener, the sun bigger, the clouds fluffier, but the stars were always the little specks of glowing light in inky darkness. If he really tried, he could sometimes pretend for a few seconds that he was still there. That the apocalypse hadn't happened and he could still sit in heaven without care. Even the slow moving wispy clouds were relaxing to watch as they past unhindered by the sharp branches of the tree tops. He probably would've laid there all night, but his tranquility was cut short by a loud blast not far from where he was. As Cas stood he felt the ground quake beneath his feet, and the slight movement made him lose his stable footing-still a bit drowsy from helping the child earlier. He reached for one of the trees to even out himself and looked the direction the bang had come from.

His immediate thought was of Dean. He'd put it upon himself to protect him and his brother; power or no power, drunken or sober; he was ready to do whatever he needed to do to keep both of the Winchesters safe. His unsteady hand yanked his pistol from his belt as he gradually began his hike back into the open. The weapon in his hand made him feel so minuscule and unimportant having to rely on such a tool to protect him. Guns were bulky and heavy, but with good enough accuracy they got the job done. Cas however admitted, his skill with guns was good but not nearly as good as Sam or Dean. His entire existence his weapon had been his grace and its ability to smite those who dared to threaten him, whereas the Winchesters had used guns and various blades to do the same.

Cautiously the fallen angel trekked through the thinning brush, using the smell of smoke as a guide in the dark. With every step of snapping branches the odor grew thicker and more intolerable. The silhouetted outlines of the cabins were just becoming visible through the trees when he heard a sinister and unfamiliar voice.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the little angel that could."

Cas' body spun around, his arms holding the pistol out in front of him. All he found though was hollow woods, dark and ominous staring back at him.

"Or should I say _couldn't_?" The voice echoed again followed by a wicked laugh.

Castiel gripped his gun tighter and scanned the shadows for a face to put the voice to.

"You stopped the vessels from fulfilling their destiny, but you still couldn't stop the apocalypse could you?"

"Show yourself!" Cas warned firmly.

Another dark chortle echoed around the air, and he fired a shot into the black abyss knowing that his bullet would do little to save him from a demon. The laugh grew louder. "Oh how far you've fallen. You're nothing more than one of those hairless apes my father hates so very much now aren't you Castiel? Such a pity your brothers and sisters left you here to die with those troublesome Winchesters."

Finally a woman in her mid-twenties stepped out from behind a large tree smirking fiendishly at him. Without his celestial powers Cas couldn't make out the monsters true face, and simply saw her as a mortal would. To any unknowing person, Cas guessed she would've been considered beautiful, but knowing whoever the demon was possessing was most likely dead sort of took away from her noticeable attractiveness.

"Which one are you?" Castiel demanded keeping his gun aimed at the woman.

She paced back and forth between the trees, smiling every time a scream sounded in the distance. "Oh right. Without your Jesus Juice you can't see my true form beneath this meat suit." She snickered, and feigned a pout. "How sad…" she paused and smirked again. "Call me Johanna."

Cas swallowed and clenched his jaw. He wouldn't allow a demon to talk down on him the way she was. He might have lost his Grace but deep down he was still an angel of the Lord. "What are you doing here?" He hissed, his eyes narrowing. Despite his steadfast composer, on the inside he was terrified. He realized being alone and completely powerless in the presence of a demon while being on Hells most wanted list made him more than vulnerable.

The demon Johanna shrugged and lent against one of the trees looking bored with the new topic of discussion. "For starters my buddies and I just blew up your not-so-unbreakable barricade and unleashed a few truckloads of hungry Croatoian victims to keep you folks busy awhile."

Castiel's eye grew wide and he looked back to where the sky was glowing. "Dean. . ." he mouthed, worry replacing his unwavering expression. He stood, breathing deeply, glancing back to the fire and the demon, deciding what he should do. It probably wasn't smart to leave a demon loose in camp, but Dean and Sam needed his help, even if he couldn't offer as much assistance as he wanted.

"Mmmmm. Whatcha gonna do Cassy?" the demon teased raising a perfectly manicured brow.

Without any more thought he took off running for the break in the trees, but soon found himself inches off the ground and unable to go any farther.

"Nope, wrong move." With the simple gesture of her pale hand, Cas flew through the air and slammed into a tree with enough force to make his vision tunnel. Panic was quickly consuming him as he tried to move to shoot the creature.

"Look at you." She mocked. "You know you are beaten, and yet you won't give up. Such a valiant little soldier you are."

Cas continued to struggle with the force of a boulder crushing upon him in midair. All he had to do was shoot her once to get away, or attempt to.

Johanna began to open her mouth once again when a sudden gunshot rang out from an unknown direction. The bullet must have struck the demon, because Cas regained control of his body. He fell to the ground, his forehead hitting a conveniently placed rock. Instantly he felt the warmth of the blood seep from his wound and run down the side of his face. He quickly got to his feet and looked to find that the shot had come from a man holding a riffle. The fallen angel had no recollection of who the stranger was or when or how he'd gotten there, but he was thankful for him. The demon however was not.

Before Castiel could save his rescuer, Johanna flicked her wrist and the man's head spun all the way around and in an instant he was dead. Pleased with herself the demon laughed darkly, momentarily taking her focus off of Castiel, who suddenly found an untold amount of rage coursing throughout his system. He charged towards the creature.

"We could play this game all night you know." She taunted boredly, stopping him mid stride. Once again he squirmed and fought to free himself from the invisible grasp that was crushing him. He felt sweat drip down his skin along with the blood and he breathed through flared nostrils.

"You still haven't told me what else you are doing here." He seethed through clenched teeth.

The demon smiled crookedly. "We're here to fetch Papa a new vessel."

Castiel stopped fighting momentarily and suppressed a smirk of his own. "Sam Winchester will never allow Lucifer to use him as a vessel. We've been through this."

Johanna slowly shook her head, her black eyes cold and empty, with a smirk on her face. "Haven't you heard? A new vessel's become available. We've been sent to make sure it arrives in one piece."

Cas' expression quickly switched from controlled rage to unfathomable confusion. "I don't understand. How is that possible?"

She shrugged and stepped closer, about to say more when a blade stuck through the front of her neck form behind and once again Cas fell to the ground finding himself free of the indistinguishable grasp. Johanna's lifeless form lay in front of him, eyes wide open, mouth hanging agape; and never had the fallen angel wished for a demon to be brought back to life.

"Cas!" Deans gruff voice yelled somewhere close to him.

He felt hands help him to his feet, and as soon as he was stable, he gripped Deans thick jacket with both hands urgently. "Dean I have to tell you-"

"Save it." He spit. "You're bleeding. We have to get you outta here."

Dean led the way, filling the silence with his scolding. ". . .what the hell Cas? Going off into the woods like that? And where the Hell did that demon come from?"

Castiel stayed mute, never acknowledging anything Dean said- although the Winchester didn't seem to notice or care. The fallen angel was too wrapped up in what the demon had said about there being new vessels to say anything. If it was true, than Lucifer could gain full power, and the demons had been sent to the camp to pick them up, which meant the new vessels, or at least Lucifer's was somewhere within the walls. All of that lead to the question; who were they?

* * *

"What the Hell was that?" Merle asked looking to the northern sky. The loud boom had interrupted his poor excuse for a dinner and startled both he and his brother. Daryl's eyes followed Merles stare finding nothing but the woven, black tree branches and shadows.

"I dunno." He replied not moving from his spot perched atop the wall surrounding camp. The foliage combined with the dark of night made it difficult to make out anything other than the mutated black forms created by the trees and cascading silver moonlight. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like it should've been normal.

Merle continued to pick ungratefully at leftovers on his plate, seeming to have already lost interest in the mysterious bang. Daryl however stood from his sitting position, balancing his weight on a piece of level plywood suspended dangerously on the barricade, listening for something to warn him of any potential danger. He cautiously paced back and forth not once tearing his eyes away from the woods as if the longer he glared into the darkness the farther his leer would penetrate. The air had become deathly still in that moment; no wind or noises filled the atmosphere, and Daryl couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Maybe we should check it out." Daryl suggested, looking down to where his brother sat with a rifle and plate in his lap. The eldest brother said nothing and continued to eat his dinner, and drink his beer.

Daryl pursed his lips, giving the woods one final glower before carefully scaling down the barricade. His feet landed in a puddle, splashing muddy water onto his tattered pant legs. Ignoring the mess he stomped over to his brother.

"You lose yer hearin' along with yer hand? I said maybe we outta check it out." He kicked the bottom of Merles right boot demanding an answer. Daryl wasn't about to put up with his brothers bullshit if the camp needed their help.

"You musta lost yer hearin' too boy." Merle chided not looking up from his food. "As I remember, Officer Rick stuck me on patrol duty. I ain't supose'ta move."

Daryl's lip curled. "You ain't even watchin'. Besides, since when do you do what Rick tells ya?" He paused to think of something to say that would ensure his brother would at least get to his feet, and under Merle thick hide. "I didn't think you was anybody's bitch."

That did it.

In a flash Merle tossed aside his plate, and got to his feet clutching the rifle that had been in his lap, in his hand. "I ain't nobody's bitch little brother." His glare was strong and dominating, but lacked the ferocity it had earlier.

Expecting the reaction, Daryl was unfazed by the glower. "That's what I thought. Now com'on."

He kicked at the leaves covering his feet and made his way into the dense shadow of the forest, surprised to hear the footsteps of his brother not far behind his. He thought for sure it would've taken a little more than name calling to get his stubborn pig of a brother to move and help. With as much as Merle prided himself on taking care of his little brother and looking out for him, he did a pretty shitty job of it.

"You really this eager to help these freaks?" Merle probed a while later, still walking in sync with Daryl.

He continued his carful steps, without answering his brother right away. It didn't surprise him that Merle would feel uncomfortable settling in with strangers after what went down in Woodbury. The way Daryl understood it, Merle had been the Governors second in command then was viciously betrayed and cast into a death match against his own flesh and blood. Luckily they'd both made it out of there alive, and since then Merle stuck with his bother. As far as Daryl knew the camp wasn't even half of what Woodbury was. That step ford town was freakishly too utopian to exist during the apocalypse. What the Winchesters had created was entirely more logical.

"This ain't Woodbury bro." Daryl finally said in a lower tone hoping not to rile his brother. He stopped to allow Merle to catch up and when he did, he turned and met his eyes. "The shit that happened there ain't gonna happen here."

Merle said nothing; in fact he didn't even seem to care what his brother had said to him. He simply seemed shut off, pissed off and distant. Finally he shoved his way onward. "If yer so damn set on helping these people, don't stop for a chit chat."

Daryl scowled his brothers' direction at his complete lack in consideration. Grumbling to himself he trudged on, reclaiming his place a few steps ahead of his brother. Soon the small grouping of cabins came into view and as they got closer it became more obvious something was wrong. Heavy smoke filled the air, along with shrieks of terror. Daryl became suddenly all too aware that he'd left his crossbow in the cabin before meal time, and didn't think to retrieve when he'd brought Merle his plate.

As soon as the others came into sight, Carol ran to meet them; Maggie and her sister stayed on the stoop outside Rick's cabin.

"Oh good." Carol flung her arms around Daryl, causing him to recoil from sudden her closeness. "I'm glad to see you."

"You know what's goin' on?" he asked pulling himself free from her grasp awkwardly.

"We think something exploded. Rick saw some Walkers over by those tents."

His eyes followed her gesture. "Carl with him?"

She nodded.

"You said there was Biters up there?" Merle pointed to the tents with his bad arm.

Carol nodded again.

"You get your bow little brother. You drug my ass all the way here, might as well knock out a few of those devils."

Merles sudden interest in fighting threw Daryl. Anything Merle did was usually for his own benefit, and the youngest Dixon found it hard to believe he was going to go off and fight without more prodding. Nevertheless he went inside to get his crossbow.

He ditched his jacket on the bed, donning only the vest to enable more agility. His arm and shoulder still ached, and he realized how tiered he actually was. Getting up at dawn to hike in the woods was killer. He'd even been looking forward to a bed to sleep on for the first time since they'd left the prison. But Rick and the others would need him.

With a sigh he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and grabbed he pistol from his jacket pocket; hopefully those two weapons would be enough. Even through the walls of the cabin peoples screams clawed at his ears, making him that much more certain that he had to put himself and what he needed last.

Carol was setting on the wooden steps outside his door when he exited. He glanced around and frowned slightly. "Merle's run off again."

Carol stood. "He went to help Rick."

Daryl knew better than to believe that. His brother was up to something. Merle would never voluntarily help Rick. If he'd had it his way, Daryl and him would've been somewhere far away from Rick's group living off of what nature was left uncorrupted. The only reason Merle was still around was because Daryl refused to abandon the group.

"Sure he is." Daryl scoffed. He situated his crossbow, securing an arrow into the fire ready position, and made sure his pistol was loaded.

"It just you an them?" he asked pointing to Maggie and her sister.

"Mmmhmm. Glenn left to go find out what happened."

Daryl knew the three of them were trained well enough to protect themselves if need be, but that didn't mean he felt good about leaving them. "Imma be back." He gripped the strap of his crossbow tight and bounced off the stairs. "Don' let one of them things get ya."


	8. Something Wicked This Way Comes Part 2

**A/N: Okay lovelies! Here's the second part of the battle! I apologize for taking so long to get this up, but my cousin who is Betaing this for me went of vacation, and a friend talked me into watching Doctor Who (which has been a large part of my distraction) Anyway, this chapter is quite long so I hope that makes up for the lack in updates. I've also created a playlist for this story, I'll post the link on my profile if you wanna check it out too. Thanks again for all your reviews, if I didn't get to answering you this time around hopefully I will this time! **

**ENJOY!**

* * *

The Consequence of Choice

Something Wicked This Way Comes Part 2

Rick yanked his blood spattered machete out of the skull of the dead creature attacking him and kicked its lifeless husk to the ground. Looking around briefly, there was no denying that the Walkers had over run the camp. For every man able to fight there was small horde Walkers, which would only remain true if no more men and women were bit and killed. He wasn't sure of the human casualties; no one seemed to take the time to check the growing number of bodies they were tripping over as they ran and fought.

"Behind you!" Carl shouted as yet another zombie lunged for the former police officer. Rick spun around on his heel, swiftly striking the snarling creature with his crimson soaked blade. The dead Walker collapsed and once again the sheriff stole a glance around trying to regain his breath. The thick cloud of black smoke that lingered dangerously in the air made even taking the smallest breaths difficult and limited the visibility. It was only getting worse; there didn't seem to be an end to the decaying monsters, it was as if they were the deformed, ravenous spawn of the shadow and smoke. They ripped the flesh and the fabrics of the tents to get to those hiding inside. Rick had saved very few of the people he'd planned to help. Most of them had fallen victim to the poisonous bite of the Walkers.

A gust of wind whirled around him, thinning the heavy blanket of smoke enough for him to make out a man and his family. They were struggling through the mud when a Walker came up from the darkness behind them. Rick's eyes grew wide and watched in horror as the monster tore a chunk out of the wife's neck.

"No!" the sheriff hollered running to help the man and his ill-fated wife. He pulled his gun from its holster and shot the creature before it could make a meal out of the rest of them. He knelt beside the woman and cradled her head. "What's her name?" Rick asked quickly.

The man said nothing and pressed his shaking hands to the gaping bite wound- a steady stream of tears rolling down his dirty cheeks. Beside him, clinging tightly to the man's shirt was a little girl who couldn't have been more than four years old.

"You, you have to help her! Please!" the man begged aimlessly trying to stop the bleeding.

The amount of helplessness and sorrow that washed over the officer for this couple was astounding. His heart ached physically seeing the fear in the little girls' eyes and the pain on her father's face. Rick suddenly saw his own family. Carl and him mourning over Lori. It had been Carl that put her down. No child should have to do that. No child should have to witness that.

"We can't help her." Rick said as calmly as the situation could allow. "She got bit. There's only one thing you can do." He held out his gun for the man and called for Carl who wasn't far off. "Take this little girl back to Carol and Maggie."

Carl nodded and coaxed the child away from her father, taking her dainty hand tightly. "I've got you." Carl told the little girl calmly.

"This time you stay with them, you understand?" Rick shouted as they began to trek back.

There were enough people fighting off the dead that Rick stayed a few minutes longer with the man and his dying wife. His hand was still outstretched, offering his pistol to the man. He was in hysterics, never moving his hands from the wound on her neck even after the blood loss had taken her; the man just continued to shake his head repeating the same word over and over again; "no"

The officer looked around, feeling as though they were running low on time with their enemies never far away. "Look, I know this is rough. I lost my wife too. But if you don't do this she'll end up like one of those things. You don't want that do you?" He paused to check the area around them again. The Walkers were getting too close.

"I'm gonna leave this here with you so when the time comes. . ." His voice trailed off. "Do not let that little girl lose her father too."

For the first time the man's dark eyes looked at Rick and then to the Colt revolver. Slowly his shaking hand took the weapon and he nodded.

Without wasting any more time, the former sheriff got to his feet and with his machete fought off the closest Walkers to allow the man time to finish the deed. One after another he swung at the creatures until he'd cut himself a path through a large herd of them. He stopped for only a second to catch his breath as best he could, only to cough from the smoke hanging in the air. He wanted to go back, make sure Carl and the little girl had made it to the cabins safely. Although the path behind him was nothing but smog and people fighting to stay alive, Carl was a good shot, small, and quick on his feet. He could move about under eye site swiftly through the dark and that gave him an advantage-which put Rick more at ease.

From where he stood it was obvious the fire was still causing issues at the front, and the way was clear. He'd continue forward as he'd planned, find Glenn and help with whatever needed to be done to end the chaos. Not too far away he caught sight of Ellen's figure standing near one of the two storage supplies tents in the front of the camp. Glenn was standing with her.

"What's going on here?" Rick asked looking pointedly at the destroyed barricade.

"You were right." Glenn said. "It was an explosion. Sam and Bobby went into the woods to see if they can find the cause of it."

Rick took a step forward. "I'll go help them."

"No." Ellen said in a stern voice catching his arm. "You stay with us. We need your help puttin' out the fire."

He glanced back at the flames and this time noticed the people attempting to extinguish them. Groups ran with buckets of water, some had fire extinguishers, and a few tried to smother it with blankets and dirt. Although the attempts seemed futile, it also appeared to be helping a bit.

"Where is the water coming from?" Rick asked watching a man dump a ten gallon bucket onto the flames. Water was as valuable as gold now a days, even if they needed to stop the fire.

"There's a river just outside the South Wall." Ellen explained.

"What about the people in the camp. There are tons of Walkers in the middle of this place. We can't just leave them to fend for themselves."

Ellen and Glenn moved their line of sight in the direction Rick and come from. Through the haze the carnage was all but invisible, but each one of them knew what was going on.

"When you're right you're right." Ellen sighed cocking the shot gun in her hands. "You fella's stay here. Kill any Croat that shows its ugly face around here. My girl is out there and I need to find her."

As much as Rick felt like he should go with the woman and help fight, he wasn't one to disobey orders. "Yes ma'am."

"Sam and Bobby'll be back soon, just make sure nothing else disastrous happens."

"You have my word." Rick assured her.

He and Glenn shared a long look as Ellen ran off into the smoke, before going to fight the fire.

* * *

Sam and Bobby hadn't been hiking though the Georgia wood for very long when they encountered trouble. In venturing off in the dead of night into the towering trees they'd hoped to find a culprit behind the explosion. On top of Dean's original suspicion about the explosion not being an accident, both Sam and Bobby felt it wasn't caused by hostile group of survivors that just by happenstance let a massive herd of Croats into the confines of their sanctuary. No, there were just too many coincidences. It all had to come from something far worse than just zombies or hostile survivors. It had demon written all over it. The creature concocted from the depth of hell, all that now run amongst all the hysteria. So it was no surprise when the two hunters came across a Demon waiting for them in the eerie darkness.

"Aren't you two a little old to be playing in the woods?" The female voice held a snarky, smug tone that Sam recognized right away. He spun around and his eyes narrowed.

"Meg." He jeered.

In all honesty Sam shouldn't have been as surprised as he was that the demon to blame had been her. Meg was the only demon neither he nor Dean had killed since meeting her almost five years prior. She'd been at the head of a lot of their problems and somehow always managed to slip out of their fingers. The first time they'd met she possessed a girl from Massachusetts with short blond hair. Her current meat suit was shorter and had dark hair. Her arrogant smile and snarky tone however remained the same.

"Howdy Sam! It's been a while." She winked at him playfully.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked rising his gun out of habit, even though it would do him no good.

Two more demons emerged from the shadows, flanking Meg on either side. Both the hunters took a step back, and Meg laughed. "How're you boys enjoying Hell on earth? Fun isn't it?"

Sam clenched his jaw and kept his gun held steady. He wished he could end her existence there and then, but Dean had the knife and they'd lost The Colt a long time ago.

"Why don't you stop your yappin' and tell us what the Hell you want." Bobby chided holding his gun ready to fire as well.

She just gawked at them, the corners of her mouth still pulled into a crooked smile. "It's funny how you and your brother get involved with this again."

"With what?" Sam probed anxiously. Demons were notorious for lying, and playing cruel mind games, two things both hunters were all too used to. After years of hunting them, and dealing with them, both Sam and Bobby where tired of it all.

Meg shrugged as a fiendish, playful twinkle glimmered in her piercing eyes. "Vessels."

Sam raised a brow. He was fairly certain anyone in Hells large community knew he'd refused Lucifer's request a hundred times over. Meg's statement was more than confusing to the youngest Winchester. Nothing had changed his mind. The apocalyptic world was even more unforgiving than he could've imagined but that didn't matter to him. He would never agree to something as sinister as becoming Satan's vessel. Meg was wasting her time.

"I'm guessing by that dumb look on your face you're trying to figure out what I mean by vessels. But don't let me bore you with the details. Daddy's got a new vessel, and it just so happens to be here in that camp of yours." She paused to let it all sink in before she continued. "You and Fido aren't needed anymore."

Both Sam and Bobby stood idol, guns aimed, and minds far off in thought. A sick feeling swelled suddenly in Sam's gut as the realization struck him. Everything he and Dean had fought for, everything Cas had given up- his Grace- all of it had been for nothing. The world had still ended, millions of people still died, and now, Lucifer had a new vessel. The Winchesters were hard nuts to crack, but the Devil would undoubtedly persuade, promise and charm his way into a consenting vessel and make himself ten times as powerful.

"H-how?" Sam asked attempting to keep himself calm. "How is that possible?"

Meg shook her head and stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "Like I said big fella, I'm savin' ya the details. We're just here to pick up the prize."

Bobby took a side step closer to Sam. "Think of somethin' boy." He whispered form the corner of his mouth. "We can't let these yahoo's inside."

Sam nodded. He knew Bobby was one hundred percent right, but he still wanted to try one more thing. "I don't suppose you'd tell us who the vessel is would you?" he asked looking back to the three demons in front of him.

Meg laughed dryly. "What? So you can keep them locked in a room somewhere with traps all around? I don't think so."

"Figured as much." He shrugged.

"You know Sam. Now that you and your brother are no longer the prodigies of Heaven and Hell, we could kill you right here, right now and none of the demons or angels, not even God himself would care." She smiled darkly once again.

The youngest Winchester was growing tired of the demons games, rage and confusion coursed through his system like a charging race horse. Without the bewitched knife in his possession, neither he nor Bobby were very threatening to any one of the Hell spawn standing only a few yards away. However, the hunters weren't completely out of tricks just yet.

Slowly Sam reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out three bullets, beginning to speak, and tossed them to Bobby.

"You know, you're right. Even after all this crap, my brother and I, we're just people. Two meaningless survivors of the apocalypse."

Meg and the other demons kept their focus on Sam, not noticing Bobby loading the three new silver capsules into his gun.

"But Dean and I have learnt a thing or two in this post-apocalyptic world. . ."

Meg folded her arms and raised a thinly manicured eyebrow, feigning interest. "And what would that be Sammy boy?"

Bobby cocked his gun. "Devils traps on silver bullets."

It was their best chance at getting away in one piece. The trick wouldn't kill the demons, but it would keep them trapped inside their meat suits powerless long enough for them to get away. Bobby fired three shots, successfully getting the two that were the henchmen. Meg however, managed to dart in the split second before the bullet could trap her inside.

"Damn!" Bobby cursed watching Meg fly into the sky in wretched vortex of black smoke.

Sam quickly holstered his gun and ran to keep the other demons from running away. "We have to make sure they don't dig the bullets out."

Bobby looked puzzled for a moment. "Too bad we don't have zip ties or somethin'"

Sam thought a moment. Any kind of rope or twine would be too easy for the demons to chew through or cut. He wanted these demons dead, and the only way that was going to happen was if they got the knife from Dean. His eyes caught site of the handle to his machete and an idea struck him. Sure it was mad, in fact he was thinking like Dean- which made him ever so slightly uncomfortable- but it had to be done.

He gingerly removed the long blade from his belt and glanced at Bobby.

"That works." The old man said.

In four swift chops, each demon was ridded of their hands. The creatures neither flinched nor screamed as the metal blade sliced into them. Instead they sat still, glaring at Sam and Bobby.

"Think we should get their feet too?" Bobby asked. "Don't want them runnin' after us."

Sam couldn't argue, and once again he hacked away until the demon lacked feet as well.

"I'd say that should do it." He looked at the blood on his hands in the white moon light, and with a wrinkled nose whipped it on his dirty jeans.

"You'll pay for this Winchester!" one of the mutilated demons threatened.

"You keep talkin' like that and I'll cut yer tongue out too." Bobby scoffed kicking the crippled form who'd spoken. He patted Sam on the back, who was shaken up still from what Meg had said. "Come on. We have to get back to the others."

"Alright."

Bobby led the way, leaving Sam to gaze into the sky with a scowl. He was mad at Meg, and at Heaven and Hell, and everything in the universe that was determined to make him and his brother's lives as miserable and agonizing as possible. Somehow surviving the end of the world wasn't even enough, it hadn't killed them enough. There would always be more. Something bigger and more catastrophic. And yet somehow they always managed to pull though even if it was just pieces of them. This time it felt different however. This time he wasn't sure they'd be so lucky.

* * *

In the heat of the moment, it was almost entirely too easy for Merle to break into the main building where the Winchesters hid all their secrets. Not a single soul was watching him as he snuck around the back entrance of the wooden structure, cloaked in the shadows and black smoke. In fact breaking in had been so effortless for him, he wished there'd been more of a struggle. Nonetheless the eldest Dixon hoped he could dig up some dirt on the Winchesters while he was inside.

There was only one lamp lit when he made it into the interior near the front of the building. The single light set a very strong contrast with everything else in the cluttered space, casting dark shadows over most of the heaps and storage areas. That put no hindrance on his actions whatsoever. Years of snooping through other peoples places in the dead of night had practically rendered him nocturnal. He moved swiftly thought the cluttered interior, moving from book shelf to weapon rack to cupboard with ease, aimlessly searching for something threatening about the brothers. Perhaps the small things Merle found while rooting through drawers and cabinets were evidence enough that something wasn't quite right with them. Most of the books lining the shelves were scribed in some other language and held surreal 12th century drawings of devils and black magic. Everything he found with in the surrounding walls of the cabin he couldn't explain. It was voodoo, supernatural shit that didn't make one ounce of sense as to why they had it or why it was there. It was crazy, every bit of it.

Merle stood idly in the dim light, clutching what looked to be someone's journal. It was old and tattered, with loose, frayed pages jutting out unevenly beneath its leather binding. He ran his rough fingers over the cover before opening it. The interworking of the mediocre booklet was far more intriguing than its outward appearance. In the dark the tiny penmanship was difficult to make out, however more surreal drawings and symbols were sketched onto the yellowed pages. It was the work of madness. There were meaningless numbers, and notes, things Merle had never seen in his long cruel life.

Suddenly he heard the sound of two people approaching, and he quickly glanced at the screen door he'd entered from in the back of the cabin. He dropped the book onto the wooden table where he found it and rushed to hide himself behind one of the large cabinets.

"You stay in here until Sam and I get this whole damn thing sorted out. You understand me Cas?" Merle recognized the deep, harsh tone that belonged to the eldest Winchester boy, Dean. "I already gotta worry about Sam and I'd just feel better if you weren't off chatting with anymore demons."

The last part of Dean's sentence sparked Merles interest and he inclined an ear to better his hearing.

"I understand Dean." The man named Cas said. "But I have information I need to inform you about-"

"I said save it." Dean interrupted hotly.

Merle peeked around the corner of the hutch he was hiding behind to see Dean hand Cas a clean towel. "Here, put his on your head." He said. "I gotta go out there and try to stop all this. Demon talk is gonna have to wait."

Cas looked to the floor as Dean exited out the back door. Merle stayed hidden, while his mind tried to process the nonsense he'd just witnessed. Maybe there was a bigger picture he was missing, hidden somewhere in all the crazy demon talk. A code maybe. The abundance of satanic mumbo-jumbo somewhat negated that theory though. He suddenly found himself yearning to have the odd journal back in his hands once again. There had to be some sort of explanation in all the madness scribbled into the old pages. Getting to it however now created a challenge. The phrase 'Careful what you wish for' drifted into his brain.

Merle hadn't spoken to Cas, but just from observing the man, Merle could tell he wasn't all there. Earlier he'd mumbled on about wings and angels, now he was concerned about demons. Altogether, he didn't seem that threatening.

Merle stole another peek from around the edge of the cabinet shielding him. Cas was seated on one of the two cots in the back, staring out the screen door the opposite direction. He took in a slow, silent breath, carefully stepping into the open. His eyes darted from the journal to the man sitting just feet away every second. A floorboard squeaked beneath his boot and his heart accelerated. Cas stood up, eyes still focused out the screen door; he stood for a long moment just gazing out at the chaos happening just outside the door.. Merle didn't dare move. His blue eyes watched Cas begin to saunter closer to where he was standing. The strange man's head however hung in such a way his eyes never left the floor. He reached for the handle on one of the cabinets and removed a bottle of whiskey, and slowly turned and made his way back to the cot.

Sweat dripped down Merle forehead, remaining motionless and not letting a single breath escape his lungs. When Cas had placed himself back onto the cot, Merle took one last stride and reached for the journal. With it in his hand, he let himself take in a breath before darting out the front door behind him.

* * *

It was even worse than he had initially guessed. The fire and the thickening smoke didn't make matters any better, if anything it had made breathing quite difficult. The toxic gas hung so heavily in the night air it made Daryl's eyes burn, and the world around him was opaque; a distant haze. For only a moment he stopped to regain his breath, hiding himself behind one of the storage tents near the south end of the Camp. There was no one around that he could see who might cause him harm. Single handedly he'd taken out a small herd of the dead that had gotten a little too close to the cabins Carol and the others were at. That had been enough to get his heart racing, and lungs gasping for air.

With his back against the tent he coughed hoarsely. "Damn. Gotta give up smokin'" He cleared his throat and looked around, hearing screams nearby. He crouched low to the soft ground, crossbow at the ready and peeked around the corner of the tent. Not far from where he was positioned, was another small group of tents. The haze made it difficult to see, but from the screams it was safe to say they needed his help. Daryl couldn't make out just how many Walkers where there, but he wasn't about to abandon them.

He coughed again. First things first, he removed the knife on his belt and cut an even wider strip off of his shirt and tied it around his nose and mouth. The makeshift gas mask would hopefully filter enough of the air to keep him from coughing so much. He stood slightly, moving slow, like he always did when he was on a hunt. There were men already fighting and some already dead when Daryl reached the gathering of tents. The men, women, and even a few children lying on the ground, whose fate brought them to an end, made Daryl's stomach drop, and suddenly he was angry. He sure as hell knew the race of man wasn't perfect; he was evidence enough of that, but no one, especially kids deserved to die by the hand of those already dead.

Twenty feet away, the redneck spotted more of the crippled creatures looming his way and he fired his crossbow right at the monster. Like the others it snarled as the bolt went through its brain, and then fell onto the ground never to make a noise again. All the pain he felt, emotional, and physical was gone, he was running on sheer adrenaline, and that made him powerful. He slung his crossbow around him, pulling his knife from its sheath in a fluid movement. He ran like a beast after his pray, pouncing and tackling it to the ground, tearing every Walker in his path to shreds. Putrid fingers reached hungrily for his living flesh until he ran the blade into their destroyed brains. Madness ensued around him, and boiled within him. Screams and gunshots filled his ears and fuelled his attacks; one right after another.

In the back of his mind he knew he was bleeding, he could feel it, or sense it- he wasn't sure which. Blood mixed with his sweat somewhere on his body. Every part of him screamed to stop, to rest. He was exhausted, he needed to assure himself that the bleeding wasn't from a bite, but he didn't want to stop-or he couldn't.

Again, he sprinted towards a Walker screaming; the sound muffled behind the fabric covering his face, and he rammed the knife into the creatures' skull until the hilt met flesh. As the limp form fell to the ground, Daryl stumbled backward, feeling slightly dizzy. He closed his eyes for a moment to try and keep everything from spinning. His breaths were slow despite his racing heart. When he was able to open his eyes he'd realized he was far from where he'd started. He blinked slowly, his head becoming even fuzzier. Everything moved in slow motion around him. Screams were distant and few and far between. The earsplitting sound of gunfire was muffled. It felt as though his life force was draining out of him as the adrenaline washed away. With it gone, the pain returned and his head started to pound in rhythm with his heart. His body was shutting down. He fell to his knees, and looked up at the stars as his vision began to tunnel, and he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

When the obscure framework of the collapsing barricade came into view, Sam and Bobby were surprised to find that for the most part the fire had been extinguished. There were few sparks of orange flames here and there; a far lesser cry than what it had been the last time either of them had seen the destruction. Even the haze that had engulfed the air was diminishing with the dying fire. The closer the two hunters got the more uplifting the situation with the wall became. There was damage, lots in fact, but there it was fixable. In time they could rebuild it, maybe even make it stronger. Even then people were already grouped together to smother the rest of the glowing embers.

As the two of them passed the charred skeletal structure, Sam looked to find Ellen and Dean but found neither. A miniscule amount of concern pumped through him as he continued to search, craning his neck the other direction. It seemed Rick Grimes had taken charge at the front, giving out orders; helping carry what pieces could be salvaged back to their original placement. He'd managed to make it through the chaos; the fire was almost out, the wall was already in the process of being rebuilt and as for the Croats, that battle seemed to be at its end.

Sam caught Rick's eye and he quickly jogged the distance to meet with them. "I've got everyone not wounded or finishing off the Walkers working on the wall or helping the injured. We've pretty much taken care of the fire."

Sam couldn't help but to be impressed by the man's dedication to the task and how well he did under such extreme pressure. Not everyone could keep their cool and diligently strive for a goal as well as Rick seemed to have done. The landscape around them was maddening enough. Every which way bodies lie motionless on the cool earth, some of them human, most however that of the dead. The youngest Winchester's mind started to wonder as his eyes scanned the battlefield. People that they'd left at the front where gone, and he couldn't help but to search the bodies not belonging to the monsters.

"Where are the others? Glenn, Ellen and Jo?" a part of him didn't want to know the answer.

Rick looked off into the darkness south ward then back at Sam and Bobby. "Last I saw of Ellen was about 45 minutes ago. She went to go find her daughter." He paused and pointed to the medical supply tent not far from where they were standing. "Glenn went off a while ago to get one of our people, Carol, to bring her up here. She's not a doctor, but she can help with stitches and injuries like 'em."

The corner of Sam's lip pulled up word slightly at one side. It was a ghost of a smile. "That's great. What about Dean? Have you seen my brother?"

The flicker of a smile faded from his face as Rick shook his head. "No. Sorry."

Bobby firmly gripped Sam's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. "I'll go see if he's in HQ. He went to go look for Cas. Best bet is they're in there, and if I know Dean, he's probably rippin him a new one."

It was important to find Dean for the obvious reason; making sure he was okay, and of course to inform him of their new threat, that oddly wasn't all that new. Once again fate decided they'd dance with the devil in the 'Vessel' game. Lucifer was persistent, his demons wouldn't stop until the vessel was captured and persuaded into consent. This time getting the answer they wanted and needed would be a piece of cake. It took an agonizing amount of pain to refuse the devil, and Sam honestly doubted anyone had enough will power left after everything to do what he'd already done.

"Did you and Bobby find the cause of this?" Rick asked after Bobby was gone.

A part of Sam wanted to tell the man the truth, especially after everything he'd managed to do while he and Bobby were gossiping with demons in the woods. If he did tell him what exactly had happened, it was unlikely Rick would believe him. A demon blowing up a wall, sending in herds of the dead, all to look for and retrieve Satan's vessel? Even with the dead walking around that sounded crazy. Not to mention what Deans reaction would be if he found out what his brother had told their latest additions.

With a sigh he shook his head. "Uh, no." he broke eye contact with the other man and he looked off at the gate. "Didn't find anything, just trees."

Both of them stood with their focus far away looking off towards the last of those who were fighting the fire. It was a long lull and despite the small sliver of good fortune – the fire practically gone – he couldn't keep from going back to what Meg had told him not long ago.

"I should probably go get my son." Rick finally said after a while. "I'll make sure he's okay then bring him back up here and help with the construction." The man began to step away, but Sam caught his arm, and held out his hand for Rick to shake.

"Thank you." Sam said.

The former sheriff shook Sam's hand as he replied. "No need. I promised you and your brother that my people would help however we could. It's the least we can do after the hospitality you've shown us." Sam's eyes fell to the scared tissue on Ricks arm were Dean had carved the protection sigil into his skin. "All things considered." Rick added.

Suddenly from behind Rick, Sam noticed a man no older than 35 approaching the two of them. Even from a distance the man was riddled with emotional agony. His eyes were swollen and puffy, his entire body was slack as he drug his feet across the wet grass towards them. The man meekly tapped on Ricks shoulder, and held out a silver revolver.

"I'm so sorry." Rick murmured removing the weapon from the man's grasp.

The nameless man said nothing. He'd lost someone. Sam had seen that same look on Dean, on Bobby, their dad, even on himself. Having someone ripped from your life left a hole inside you that no measurement of material possessions could ever begin to fill. Losing a loved one was the closest a person could feel to death, without actually dying.

"My little girl." Was all the man could manage, and even then his voice was so cracked and soft; the words were hard to hear.

Sam felt his heart sink when the man mentioned his child, and Rick must have noticed from the Winchesters expression.

"His little girl is fine. It was his wife."

That wasn't much better, Sam thought watching the sobbing man feeling helpless.

Gently Rick draped his arm around the man's quivering shoulders and began to guide him in the opposite direction. "Let me take you to her."

Sam then found himself standing alone with his feet in the mud. For a time he just watched the people, finding the unity uplifting. Crisis never failed to bring even the most unlikely groups together when someone was in need. There was lots to build, to fix, to mend and to clean, and as long as the members of the camp were willing to try they would be able to get it all accomplished. They'd burn the bodies, salt and burn those belonging to fellow friends and members.

He sighed as he looked at the casualties, and suddenly he was reminded he still didn't know where Dean was. He hoped Bobby had found him in Head Quarters. Just as he turned to go and check for himself- he only made it a few steps before stopping when- he noticed a familiar body lying in the mud only a few yards away.

* * *

With a low, strenuous grunt, Daryl rolled over onto his back, the cold mud clinging to his sweaty skin. His rapid pulse drummed in his head in a wild rhythm while his breaths came out in short labored huffs. Something was restricting his flow of oxygen. It too was wet and stuck to his face, and slowly he pulled the damp piece of fabric away from his nose and mouth. After that he didn't dare to make any more movements until he assessed what damage his body had just suffered. He could vaguely remember what brought him to lie on the ground so abruptly. As far as he could recall he hadn't gotten knocked out, or bit, but he did remember how tired he felt. Along with feeling drained, he felt pain. One was a familiar ache in his shoulder; the other sting was in his ankle. It wasn't quite as prevalent as the discomfort he felt on his shoulder, but it was still there. Considering what could've become of him lying helpless on the ground, a twisted ankle was a blessing.

Daryl continued to lay static on the cool earth as his memory slowly came to him. The explosion and the Walkers, the fighting, Merle, all of it was coming back to him. He remembered how his body struggled to keep going until he finally passed out from exhaustion. He hadn't gotten bit and that was what mattered the most, he didn't care what happened to him as long as he didn't become one of those vicious monsters.

People were moving around him, he could hear the wet ground slosh and give beneath their feet as they ran and shouted. He kept his eyes closed, too tired to open them, and listened. The fighting seemed to be over. There was a lack of gun fire and frightened screams- not to mention the horrific sound of the Walkers growls. Daryl could hear footsteps getting closer to him, and suddenly he felt as though something or someone was looming over him. Before he could reach for his knife, a familiar voice met his ears and he stopped.

"Hey, you okay?"

Slowly there redneck opened one of his eyes to find Deans brother Sam kneeling beside him. He was dirty and out of breath and his long hair hung in messy strands in his face.

"Think so." Daryl grunted in response, taking the hand Sam offered. As he was pulled onto his feet, his head began to spin again and his sore ankle made it difficult to keep his balance.

"Whoa, you sure?" The Winchester asked catching Daryl before he fell over.

"I'm fine!"

It took him a moment, but when he could stand on his own he looked around to see what destruction had taken place. He'd been far too preoccupied with the fighting to really weight the casualties. It could have been worse he thought as he looked around. The scenery that met his glance was nothing short of a battlefield, but the greatest majority of mangled corpses on the ground were those of the grotesque creatures that hunted them. There was a lack of poisonous gases drifting throughout the air which meant the fire had been extinguished. Although the odor of rotten flesh permeated the air almost worse than the smoke.

Daryl sighed and searched the ground for his weapon. Like him it was laying in the mud just inches away from where he'd fallen. As he slung the strap over his torso he felt the sting in his left shoulder again. He hissed threw gritted teeth at the pain and pulled back the fabric of his shirt to investigate the wound.

"Damn stitches ripped open." He moved his shoulder again slightly. "Son of a bitch."

Sam was standing at his side looking concerned; he spoke when their eyes met.

"Come on. I'll fix you up." He pointed to the Head Quarters building.

If Daryl had felt himself, he would've argued, refused the man's help and stormed off in search for his brother. However he was too tired to put up any more fighting and the pain was irritating. Still, he was hesitant about following one of the Winchesters into the cabin. The last time he had, the oldest one carved into his skin, now the youngest one wanted to heal him. Merle would've thrown a fit if he knew his little brother was accepting their help without a fight. Merle however was still missing and a part of Daryl didn't want to mess with him.

The walk from their current position wasn't far from the main building so when Sam suddenly stopped, Daryl almost ran into him.

The Winchester was gazing off, looking in the direction of the medical storage tent. The redneck followed Sam's leer finding Dean bent over a dying man's body. He seemed to be speaking with the man lying helpless on the ground, while a woman behind them sobbed. It was a scene far too common for anyone not to know what came next. Daryl's gut churned, and Sam shut his eyes solemnly looking down, as Dean fired a single round into the man's head. An eerie silence preceded the ear piercing sound of the gun shot, broken only by the nameless woman's hysterical cries. She ran to Dean and buried her nose in his chest, muffling her broken weeping.

"C'mon." Sam murmured softly a time later gesturing for him to follow.

Daryl lingered, replaying the scene in his head. It was instances like that which made it almost impossible to go on. How many times had he watched a similar saturation take place? He had been the one to put Dale down after the Walker got to him on the farm. Rick did the same with Sophia. Daryl's stomach twisted at the thought of Carol's daughter. He'd tried so hard to find her. Everyday more and more of the human race was falling victim to the ungodly disease one way or another. There seemed to be no end to it all. Or maybe that was the point. Maybe this was it, life on earth was over, and what was happening was the slow painful finish to those that thought themselves higher than the wrath of God.

Pulling himself out of the venomous thoughts he rested his hand on the strap of his crossbow and continued after Sam and into the cabin. Castiel sat at the table holding a bloodied rag to his head when the two men entered. The strange dark haired man didn't seem to notice their arrival; he was lost in his thoughts absent mindedly trailing his index finger along the lip of the battle of Whisky. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from a group of candles placed in the center of the table. Bobby was to the side, shoulders deep in a plastic bin searching with the aid of a flash light. He was mumbling to himself about the generators failing when he stood up straight.

The old drunk sat four more candles on the wooden surface and tossed Sam a box of matches. "Make yourself useful boy." They both struck a match and began to light the candles. "Those damn generators always go out when shit hits the fan." Bobby moved to another storage tub and removed more candles for the two of them to light. "I'll see if I can't get it runnin' again in the morning. You have any idea where your brothers at?" he pointed to Cas. "Cause he ain't got a clue."

Daryl exchanged a glance with Sam before the Winchester answered.

"He's uh, outside." Sam replied.

"Watched 'im put someone down." Daryl added in a low voice.

The room was suddenly very cold and gloomy. The dim glow from the candles only enhanced the solemn atmosphere and made them all feel twice as horrible.

Sam cleared his throat to break the silence. "Where's the first aid kit? Daryl ripped a few of his stitches."

The old man gave Daryl a glare as if it was too much trouble, and maneuvered around the stacks of books and chairs until he reached a cabinet and removed a white box with a large red cross on it. He handed it to Sam and went back to searching for candles.

"Do we have any spare clothes by chance?" Sam glanced pointedly at the redneck.

Daryl looked at his tattered attire. Twice he'd ripped off part of his shirt, once to assist the bleeding after he'd gotten shot and the second time to he keep the smoke out of his lungs while he was fighting. Not to mention the blood stains and the mud clinging to the thin fabric. Not even Bobby could argue against finding him a new shirt.

"I'm sure I can find one in this mess. Might have to rip the sleeves off it yourself though."

While Bobby scavenged for a shirt, Sam fixed Daryl's stitches. He sat as still and as quietly as could manage as the needle pierced his tender skin.

"Are all ya'll some kinda doctors?" he asked to keep his mind off the twinge that shot down his arm every time Sam stuck the needle though his flesh, also trying to learn as much as he could about the mysterious brothers. "You an' yer brother got this place runnin' right. Just like a military camp err sumthin'"

Sam drew the thread out a final time and cut it. "No" he said shaking his head. "We've all just had lots of experience." He removed a roll of sterile white gauze and wrapped it around Daryl's shoulder to help keep the stitches in place. "There ya go." He feigned a smile looking back at the redneck.

Sam repacked the first aid kit as he spoke. " And our dad was a Marine, guess that part of him rubbed off on us."

Daryl couldn't help but to be slightly annoyed by the vague answer his question received. But he didn't press it any harder seeing the look on Sam's face. He guessed poppa Winchester was a touchy subject. Soon after, Dean burst though the screen door in a fit of anger.

"Son of a bitch. The generators went out again?"

Sam nodded.

Dean cursed under his breath and his brow furrowed when he noticed Daryl sitting across from Sam. "What's he doing here?"

Daryl shot the other brother a dirty look before Sam explained. Dean Winchester still wasn't very high on Daryl's favorite people list.

"His stitches ripped open when he was fighting, I was just fixing them."

Dean's defenses fell. "Oh, Sorry."

Daryl could tell the eldest Winchester was still shaken up about what had happened. They were much the same when it came to emotions. Dean buried them and when he did, only the anger would leak out and fuel everything. The feeling was all too familiar to the redneck. Dean's body was rigid, his arms dangling at his side, fists clenched. He only breathed though his nose due to the fact his jaw was clamped too tight. The clothes he wore were dirty, shredded along the arms and blood spattered. His lip was swollen like he'd gotten punched and blood trickled out of a large cut above his right eye brow.

"Here." Bobby said suddenly tossing Daryl a new shirt. "Hope you like plaid."

"Thanks." He caught it and stood up.

As he peeled himself out of his shirt with his back turned, he could feel eyes watching him. The dozen or so scars on his back burned under the leer of heavy eyes, and he suddenly felt smaller. It was hard running away from your past when it was etched into your own skin. He wasn't about to explain himself to these people, however when one of them whispered demons, he realized it was the tattoo on his back that they were interested in.

"You have Demons tattooed to your back?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't seem to show as much – if any- enthusiasm as his brother, in fact he seemed slightly confused as to why Sam had any interest in it at all.

Daryl spun around and finished buttoning his shirt. "Yeah, so?"

Both the Winchesters and Bobby looked at him; even Cas moved his focus off of the whisky bottle to listen to the conversation. Daryl shrugged back into the vest and grabbed his cross bow from where he'd placed it on the table.

"So what's with the angel wings on the vest if you've got the devil inked on your back?" Dean asked crossing his arms. "Angels and Demons. You believe in that kind of stuff?"

The four men's sudden attention to what was tattooed onto his back made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He figured the best way to get them to stop looking at him was to answer their questions. He finally shrugged and rolled up the sleeves of his newly acquired shirt.

"Got the tat one night I was drunk, don't know why; felt right at the time. . ."

"And the vest?" Sam asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I just liked it."

He made his way for the front door and stopped just before he went out. "And to answer yer question 'bout believen' in 'em. I guess I did.

"Did?" Dean probed.

"Yeah. If angels are suppose' to protect us err be our guardians and all that shit, then where the hell are they now?"

A loud thud came from where Cas was sitting at the table, he'd knocked over the whisky bottle, but quickly picked it back up. He shuffled uncomfortably and glanced at Daryl for only a moment before taking a long swig from the bottle. The mood in the room shifted again and Daryl decided it was time he looked for his brother and without another word he stormed out of the door.

* * *

Dean sat on his cot in the back of the HQ building a while later. It was still dark in the cabin apart from the candles and it was just he and his brother now. Bobby and Cas both went to their own cabins soon after Daryl stomped out the door. Part of him wondered if Cas left because of what the hot headed redneck said about the angels. Cas blamed himself for a lot of what had happened even if he didn't have any involvement with whatever it was. Dean wanted to punch the Dixon in the face for saying what he had about the angels especially in front of Cas, even if part of Dean felt the same way. But the guy had no idea what Cas was, or used to be, so he gave him a break.

A deep sigh escaped his lips as he kicked off his boots and laid back. Sleep was out of the question; his mind was far too jumbled and filled with too many thoughts for that luxury. There was a lot to be done the next few days, rebuilding the wall, getting rid of the corpses and they needed to make a supply run soon. He let his mind drift into a steady flow of unrelated thoughts and memories trying to rest as best he could.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked suddenly remembering a question that had been bothering him for a while.

"Sure." Sam said, his nose stuck in book at the table.

"Why the hell where you so intrigued with Dixons' tattoo?" he raised his head to look at his brother. "And what are you reading?"

Sam sighed. "Well I told you about the demons Bobby and I ran into in the woods?"

"The ones that Bobby went to go kill?"

"Yeah. Well Meg was with them."

Dean sat straight up and gazed at his brother with wild eyes. More than a normal amount of trouble always associated with that name.

"What the hell did she want?"

Sam impatiently turned a page in the old book he was reading. "That's what I'm trying to find."

Dean got to his feet and stood behind his brother, squinting to make out the small text on the yellowed page. "Find what Sam? What did she say?'

Sam forcefully closed the book and brushed his hair out of his face.

"Sam!" Dean was getting anxious.

The youngest Winchester slouched in his chair and let out a slow long breath, looking at Dean with a helpless expression. "She said new vessels have become available and that they are somewhere here inside the camp." He paused. "Cas told Bobby the demon that attacked him told him the same thing. That's what he was trying to tell you."

It took Dean a long time to fully grasp what his brother was telling him. Immediately he felt sick, followed closely by anger.

"How!? I thought we were the only ones. That's why those sons of bitches were so damn persistent to ride our asses!"

"I know." Sam sighed understanding Dean's anger. "It doesn't make sense."

"They can't do this!" he kicked over a chair. "Not after everything you and I have been through!"

"I know Dean."

"They had their show down! The Devil won, what else does he need Sammy?! He already has the entire God damned world!"

"I couldn't find anything about it in any of these books on how it's possible." Sam murmured.

Dean leant forward, resting his palms on the tabled, head hanging down in an attempt to calm himself. After everything they'd done and sacrificed, Lucifer wasn't going to stop until he had a vessel strong enough to contain his full power. It was so unfair and Dean for once couldn't believe it.

"Did you check Dads journal?" Dean asked in a lower tone. "Maybe there's something in there."

"I couldn't find it." Sam said.

Dean's brows pulled together. "What do you mean you couldn't find it?"

"Dads journal." Sam explained. "It's not where we usually keep it. I thought maybe you had it."

Dean's green eyes grew wide. "I haven't touched it."

* * *

**A/N: There you have it! Not too much a cliff hanger this time around :D let me know your thoughts! **


	9. The Journal of John Winchester

**A/N: Hey guys! I apologize for how long its taken me to get this posted. Since the last chapter I've started classes again and also watched all of Doctor Who, so those are to blame for the lateness of this chapter. I'm also at work a lot, but at least I can take my note book out and write things when I'm not busy. Thanks for the reviews As always if you took the time to drop me a message I responded :D Also thanks for the alerts and such. Don't give up on me guys, I promise I'll get this finished. In other news TWD and SPN are gonna be back next month I CANNOT WAIT. And I'm going to comic con next weekend so don't think I'll get much written then. Anyway heres the next chapter! **

**ENJOY!**

**Chels**

* * *

**The Consequence of Choice**

**Chapter Seven**

"Rise an' shine princess." Merle hollered kicking the unstable bed frame his brother was sleeping on. "I got sumthin' I wanna show ya."

It took Daryl a moment to gather coherent thoughts upon his rude awakening. He refrained from opening his eyes, just listing to his brothers' large boots stomp on the floor until the squeak of springs met his ears as he sat on his own bed across the way. No part of him wanted to move, or even think of doing something so blasphemous. For once he'd found himself floating peacefully in a blissful darkness untouched by the evils of his nightmares that often plagued his sleeping mind ever since he was a boy. So many nights he'd lay awake with a head too full of raging thoughts that sleep never once graced him with its quiet gift. One could imagine his dismay when he was torn so early from his tranquil slumber.

He shifted, kicked the thin blanket away from his torso and peeked at his brother with one eye open only a slit. Like he'd guessed, Merle was fixated across the gap perched on his bed. For being so eager to wake him, the eldest Dixon didn't seem too concerned with making sure Daryl actually got up. He was more intrigued with a ratty book setting in his lap. He turned each page slowly with his good hand, reading – or struggling to- each page.

"The hell have you been?" Daryl scoffed, his morning voice groggy and sore. It was the first time he'd seen of his brother since the attack. "Went lookin' for you bro, thought you was walker bait."

Merle laughed dryly but didn't look up from the book. "You was sleepin' awful soundly fur someone worried their own blood was a gonner."

It was too early for them to start fighting and in the lull that followed Merles remark; Daryl flung his feet over the edge of the bed. Setting up he could tell the sun was up, but it was cloudy, gray slivers of light shown through the curtains instead of gold.

"What was it you was gonna show me?" he pried rubbing the corner of his eye.

Each movement he made pulled at his tired aching muscles from the previous night's escapades. The discomfort in his shoulder had become somewhat normal after all the hell it had given him the past couple days which made it easiest to ignore. It was his ankle now that hurt the most. He'd been naïvely hoping that his undisturbed rest would somehow cure his ailments, but no such miracle had taken place.

With a sigh he ran a hand through his disheveled mop of hair and glared at his brother. "You gon' tell me?" Daryl tried again.

Without saying anything, Merle handed the book to his brother, carefully watching Daryl's face has he took his turn looking at the yellowed pages.

"Can't make much sense out a most of it. Buncha Satanic mumbo jumbo. Told ya they was hidin something." Merle's commentary was just static in the back ground. Daryl was far to enthralled with the pages to focus on anything else.

There was no denying what was scribbled quickly onto the pages was of unsettling origin, but it really was no hard evidence the Winchesters where hiding anything more than a book of spells and monsters. There were newspaper clippings of missing persons pasted to the pages, rough sketches of creatures the likes of which Daryl had never encountered on his hunting trips. There were numbers and codes and cryptic messages, and a few personal entries about the Winchester family. What he could make out, it talked of ghosts and demons and ways to kill them, what hurt them and how to get away from them.

"Where'd you get this?" Daryl wasn't sure why he asked, there was only one place such a book could have come from. As for the likeliness that Merle got his hands on it honestly, were slim.

"Found it while I was hidden' in that fancy Head Quarters building of theirs." Merle explained, standing from his position. He took his pistol lying on the side table and tucked it in waistline of his pants.

"We have to give this back to 'em." Daryl finally said sounding annoyed, and unable to take his eyes off the pages.

"Like Hell we are Little Brother." Merle derided shrugging into his jacket.

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "You think they ain't gonna realize it's gone?"

"Those freaks got themselves a whole god damned library in there."

"This ain't no ordinary text book. It's got their Pops' initials on the cover you dumb ass." He pointed to the J.W etched into the thick front cover. "They'll know its missin'"

Merle remained steadfast, and looked quite frustrated with what Daryl was suggesting. The redneck glanced back down at the strange journal in his hand and sighed. He understood his brothers' obvious concern, the contents of the book were more than a bit disturbing, but Merle had stolen it which put him at fault as well. On top of that, he reckoned Rick should be made aware of the findings his older brother came across while he was trespassing.

"We'll show it to Rick. This is sumthin' he should see. Then we'll decide what to do with it." Daryl got up and put on his jacket that was tossed over the edge of the bed. As he did, Merle slowly began to shake his head disapprovingly. Daryl could almost feel the argument about to ensue boil deep within his brother like a cauldron of seething foam.

"Always doin' what the good sheriff says, loyal till the end huh? How come you ain't never been that way with me?"

"Remind me again how many times you go yer ass tossed in the hole cuza sumthin stupid ya did? If I'da done half them things you told me, I'da ended up there with ya."

Merles eyes turned stone cold and bore so intensely at Daryl he could almost physically feel the weight of their gaze upon him. Something in his statement struck a nerve.

"I get it now. You found yerself people that'll tolerate ya, make ya feel like one of 'em and suddenly yer too good for yer own kin." He laughed darkly- there wasn't the slightest bit of humor in his raspy voice. "Shit son. You got a lot to learn. These people don' like you. They only see you as a stubborn, redneck hick. You's a good shot, that's all. That's why they pretend to like ya. Truth is, if you couldn't handle a weapon you'd be better off dead to those parasites."

Daryl didn't say anything for a long time, and not once did he dare to look his brother in the eyes. He didn't want any part of him absorbing what bile had just spewed out of Merles mouth to touch him. Like the venom in his tone, the words were like poison to the youngest Dixon. It wasn't like the thought of him only being only a solider hadn't crossed his mind over the past two years, but he hopped after everything the group had been through at least one of them gave a damn about him. After all, the group had shown him more of what it was like to be part of a family than any of his own ever had. However his brothers' words had reawakened his fears and with them shuffling about inside his mind it would be harder to cage them back up. Maybe Merle was right, maybe they only kept him around because he could take out walkers with any type of weapon- like a pawn on chess board he was disposable.

"Rick needs to see this." He murmured a while later still looking away from his brother. "Sam and Dean are prolly already lookin' fer it."

Despite having put on his jacket and grabbing his pistol, Merle retreated back to his bed and stretched out looking smug. "You do whatever yer little pussy heart desires hon. But ain't no way I'm goin' with ya."

Daryl shook his head and reached for his crossbow. Rick would surely agree that the journal needed returned, and hopefully somehow Daryl would be able to stop all the screaming fears inside his head.

* * *

There wasn't a single book left on the usually cluttered shelves in the HQ building the next morning. Dean sat in a simmering rage-ticking like a time bomb ready to blow- amongst the messy stacks littering the already untidy space. It was obvious he hadn't slept a wink with his slouched shoulders, blood shot eyes and dark circles to underline them. He'd spent the reminder of the night searching his for father's journal only to come out empty handed. In the beginning Sam helped, scavenging through the cabinets and cupboards. He'd been slightly more methodical with his searching- stacking the books evenly instead of throwing them to the side in angry piles. Most of the disarray was a side effect of Dean's rage. He needed that ratted old book, he needed to figure out what the hell was going on and he needed it to help him save everyone he'd brought the apocalypse upon.

"Have you been up all night?" Sam's groggy voice asked from his cot in the back. His long hair was messy and despite being able to sleep, he looked extraordinarily tired. Dean almost couldn't bear to look at his little brother; it pained him to see Sammy so drained and lifeless like him. .

"Yep." Dean grunted getting to his feet. The piles of books came just to his ankles like a heavy snow.

"You didn't find it did you." Sam's question was more like a statement.

"I pulled every god damned book off the shelves just to be sure. Bobby doesn't have it, Cas doesn't have it, neither of us have it. I don't know what the hell happened to it." He kicked a stack of about ten dusty books and watched them topple into the rest of the clutter. There was never a time he didn't have the journal with him since his father had passed away. Sure it was sentiment, but it was the one thing he had left of Johns that was more than just an object like a jacket or a car. This was his journal, a little piece of him that got left behind when he'd sacrificed himself- and that was why Dean wanted it back so very badly.

"Just our luck to lose it too." Dean added sitting at the table pinching the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm himself, listening to the sound of Sam's shuffling feet come towards him and finally sit in one of the empty chairs.

"I don't know how much longer I can take this Sammy. It's killing me." Tears were welling in his eyes as he looked at his brother- his rage and self-loathing escaping through his tear ducts. "It's killing you too. I can see it. And I want to fix it but I can't."

"You don't have to fix me Dean. I'll be fine."

"Of course I do. I'm your big brother; my job is to take care of you. Has been since I was four." Dean caught a solitary tear stream down his freckled cheek and quickly brushed it away.

The two brothers sat motionless for a long time, their focus away from each other- completely away from where they sat. Thinking back before all the pain and emptiness they felt or caused. When Dean finally spoke again his tone was more even and normal.

"We've got a lot that has to be done today. Bodies to burn, the wall to rebuild, injuries to tend to. I hate sayin' it but dads journals gonna have to wait for now." He let out a deep breath and scratched the back of his head.

"I don't think it has to." Sam nudged his brothers' arm laying on the table and looked pointedly out the front door. Dean's brow furrowed and he followed his brothers' gaze. "Son of a bitch!" the second he caught sight of his fathers ratted book in the approaching sheriffs hands he ran out to confront them.

Rick was flanked by Daryl, and Sam decided he needed to referee the undeniable confrontation about to commence. "Dean," Sam warned in a hushed tone. "keep your cool."

The eldest Winchesters' tense body loosened only slightly, if only for Sam's sake. He'd lost an entire night's sleep because of that journal and wasn't in the best of moods, and on top of that he'd given Rick and his people the benefit of the doubt.

"I think we have some things to discuss." Rick stated calmly when the four men met face to face. Secured firmly in the sheriffs' hands was the worn old leather bound note book the Winchesters depended on from time to time. Nothing about it seemed out of place but Rick and Daryl had looked though it's yellowed pages with undeniable certainty.

"Yeah?" Dean pried looking from the book to Rick. "Find what you were looking for?"

Rick was somewhat hesitant to speak and Dean got the impression that it hadn't been his fault.

"Was it you?" Dean shot glare Daryl's way. Of the two of them, the redneck was the more likely culprit since Rick, at one time, was a cop.

"I didn' steal nuthin'." Daryl hissed.

Dean looked back at Rick, demanding an explanation.

"Daryl had no part in this." Rick stated firmly. "It's my impression that Merle snuck in to your building during the attack and took it. Daryl brought it to me this morning when he found his brother with it."

Dean should've known it had been ole Captain Hook who was behind it all. He'd been more a pain in the ass than his cross bow toting sibling from the beginning.

"Why did he take it?" Sam asked.

"Didn't trust ya." Daryl explained. "We all thought you was hiddin' sumthin' especially after we caught ya carryin' all that shit in the woods."

Dean swallowed and clenched his jaw, bottling his anger in an attempt to keep things civil. Yelling would only end with unwanted outcomes. At the very least it would frighten them away, and with demons on the prowl for Lucifer's new meat suit, keeping everyone in camp was at the highest of priorities.

"You come up here to tell us we're freaks or crazy? Cause I tell you what, we've heard that our whole lives so don't expect me to give a damn about what you think of me or Sam."

"Actually." Rick started handing the journal over. "We came here to return it; in hopes you'll enlighten us as to what you boys are up to."

Dean quickly snatched his father's journal from the other man's hands and flipped through the pages just to be sure everything was still there.

Very few people on site knew exactly what was going on. The Winchesters agreed a long time ago it was best to keep everyone in the dark as much and as long as possible. The dead were already walking with the living, adding demons and ghost into the mix might send an average person over the edge. Dean was conflicted. There were both advantages and disadvantages to having skilled people know that everything that goes bump in the night was real. He looked to Sam for some kind of acknowledgement as to whether he should say anything. When Sam slowly began to nod, Dean let out the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding.

"Okay. First of all we didn't say anything right away for two reasons; your own safety and frankly because you really don't want to know." The part of him that was still writhing with anger after what they'd done couldn't believe he was going along with what they wanted. "But maybe it is time we let you in on our dirty little secret. Just a few of you, I don't need all of you runnin around tellin' all these other innocent people. Once a few of you know, then I decide who else knows. Capisce?"

Rick and Daryl nodded but for the most part still seemed oblivious, and confused.

Dean continued. "First though, things need to be done." He pointed to the semi reconstructed wall in the distance. "That needs major attention. The bodies need to be sorted and burned accordingly; anyone that needs more medical attention needs to receive it. Once that's all taken care of, Sam and I will tell you, him and Merle," Dean pointed to the sheriff and the redneck. "Just so he understands what he got himself into."

* * *

It took most of the day and the better part of the evening to get the majority of the damage under control. The rain had brought with it a cold front, and with the sun hidden behind a heavy layer of light gray clouds the air was chilly. Anyone not working was huddled either inside their cabins or around the tin drums of burning logs. Whoever remained was taking turns from reconstructing the remaining gaps of the barricade, to discarding the casualties, to assisting the injured. It would take time before the wall was back to being anywhere structurally secure like it once was, but they made do with what they could salvage from the explosion. The Winchester over saw everything from those helping Bobby with the generators to how the bodies were being taken care of. That was where most of the confrontation came from.

Ricks group were not as keen to burn the bodies of those that had fallen victim to the croates. The sheriffs argument about 'We bury our own' was futile, there was no way Dean was taking the risk of someone's pissed off spirit coming to wreak havoc on them. He was tired of making excuses why something had to be done a certain way, but he wasn't gonna spill all the juicy details just yet. It wasn't like he and Sam where carelessly tossing the mangled corpses of the infected with the ill-fated; they were warped but not that warped. Ricks group settled down some when Sam explained the two processes.

By nightfall, Rick Daryl and Merle stood in the now bright interior of HQ. Ellen and Bobby were there as well. Little had been done to lessen the cluttered floor apart from the books that had been shoved aside to make a narrow walking path from the front door to the table. Sam encouraged them to sit with him at the table and hesitantly two of the three did so. Merle, unsurprisingly, stood by himself leaning against the structural coulombs. When Dean took his spot next to his brother, he was still holding firmly to his father's journal in case someone tried to take off with it again.

"Alright, where do we start?" Sam said once everyone was situated.

"From the beginnin'." Merle grunted. It was obvious to Dean then and there; Merle was going to be a pain to deal with.

"Not gonna be that simple Sticky Fingers." Dean sneered.

In response Merle ground his teeth and looked away.

"Start where you can." Rick said calmly. "We just want honesty."

Dean took the liberty of jumping right in. "Sammy and I are hunters, and not your 8 point buck kinda hunters." He paused seeing the confusion on their faces. "We're more like the Ghost Busters without the Plasma Blasters." Dean couldn't help but to smile from his own visual.

There was a long silence that followed, filled only by the cracks of the fires outside the screen door.

"You hunt ghosts?" Rick asked as if he was still trying to comprehend what Dean had said.

"Mhm. And demons, monsters. . . " Sam's voice trailed off.

Merle let out a low sarcastic chuckle but said nothing.

"You can't be serious." Daryl muttered almost to himself.

"Believe what you want, but is it really that hard to believe now that Croats wanna eat us?" Dean suggested. At any rate, having the dead walking around helped make the supernatural elements of the world more believable to skeptics.

"You keep referring to the walkers as Croats." Rick stated folding his arms and raising a brow. "Is there reason behind that?"

"Croats is short for Croatoan." Sam clarified.

Rick and Daryl repeated the word to themselves.

"It refers to the disappearance of an entire colony in the 16th century during the Anglo-Spanish War. When thing hits, entire cities are abandoned." Sam added.

"It's basically a virus..." Dean continued rolling his eyes as his brothers seemingly never ending knowledge of weird facts.

Daryl gave the sheriff a long glance. "That doctor at the CDC said it was a virus, said there was' a cure."

Sam shook his head. "There isn't. It's a demonic virus. . ."

"The only way to get rid of it is to kill Lucifer." Dean finished Sam's thought before Rick's group could ask another question.

Once again Merle laughed darkly from his standing place behind them. "I hope y'all ain't believen' a word of this bull shit these boys are feeding you sorry ass holes."

"You better watch your mouth Mister." Ellen warned with a heavy glare.

Dean scowled. It was one thing to call him a liar, but something else entirely to steal a journal containing supernatural experiences and then proceed to not go along with it. "You got a better explanation? You wanted honesty, this is it. Monsters, ghosts, demons, heaven, hell; it's all real and has been a pain in the ass since we were kids."

"Three demons attacked last night. One got away, but we took care of the other two." Sam said as if to convince them farther.

Rick stood, rubbing the back of his head. In the small space un touched by the piles of dusty books he paced back and forth. Daryl sat with his arms laying on the surface of the table, looking down and biting his lip as he too kept his thoughts to himself. Merle remained standing with the doubting scowl on his beast like face. Sam sat in his chair with a mixture of concern, exhaust and frustration, while Dean Bobby and Ellen, kept their eyes glued on the three other men. Was what Dean had just explained that hard to swallow after what they'd found in the book Merle had stolen? Sure John's penmanship wasn't all that legible and his drawings were no Da Vinci but anyone with a functioning brain could figure out most it.

"Whaddaya say chief." Dean asked encouraging the officer to speak his thoughts growing impatient.

Rick seemed hesitant to share what he'd been going over and over again in his mind. "Okay." He finally sighed. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we don't understand 100% of this, Merle even less so. But if this is really want you believe is going on, than we have no choice to go with it."

Merle took it upon himself to make it obvious he was not on board with Rick once again, and stomped out of the door grumbling angrily to himself. Daryl on the other hand seemed to be in agreement with the sheriff. Dean glanced at Ellen as if to say "go make sure Merle doesn't screw things up" and then to his brother Ellen and Bobby both chased after the eldest Dixon before he got too far.

It was a start, two more capable people to help fight the apocalypse. Something was coming, Dean could feel it, and with Rick and Daryl he felt slightly less helpless.

"Well that's something." Dean shrugged. "If it's any consolation, I wish the truth was something that sounded less crazy, but it is what it is. That bag Sammy and I had with us the first time we met was a precaution in case you were demons. Those sigils on your arms or around the others necks will keep you from being possessed."

Both men's eyes fell to their poorly bandaged arms suddenly realizing why it was so important to have it done.

"Anything else you wannna know?" Sam asked.

Daryl started shaking his head. "I know enough for now man. Still tryin' to absorb all of it."

Rick nodded in agreement. "What do you want me to say to the others?"

"It's up to you." Sam said softly. "We suggest keeping them in the dark as long as possible."

The Sheriff nodded again. "There's one other thing I wanted to bring up since we are already here, it's somewhat off topic."

"Shoot." Dean said leaning back in his chair resting his hands behind his head.

"Before my people took shelter in that cabin we had supplies; food, ammo, weapons even vehicles. But we had to leave it behind."

"Where did you leave it?" Dean asked.

Rick rested a hand on his hip and scratched the back of his head thinking. "Do you have a map by chance?"

Sam quickly moved from his chair to fetch the map of the surrounding area they kept in the cupboards. It took him a while to find it after Dean had spent all night tearing through every storage space occupying the cabin.

"Here's where all of you were staying" Sam smoothed the wrinkled map across the flat surface of the table top and pointed to the boldly circled X on the map.

Daryl leaned forward to get a better look the map. "'cording to this, looks like its 'bout a mile, mile and a half from the cabin." He estimated. The redneck traced his dirty calloused fingers across the map several times. Dean watched curiously as Daryl mapped out a trail invisible to all but himself. "There's a few steep hills but nuthin' too strenuous. Should be a fairly easy go."

"Looks like we're taking a hike tomorrow Sammy." Dean said looking at the map. "Get to become one with mother nature. . ."

"Daryl and I will accompany you. It's our stuff, but we are more than happy to share."

Dean couldn't argue with Rick on this one, so he nodded. "Right. Meet here tomorrow morning. We'll give you a basic run through on hunters' etiquette in case we need to gank more than Croats tomorrow."

"I don't understand it." Dean slammed his dads' journal on the table in frustration. "There's nothing in here either about vessels or them changing."

* * *

Both Winchesters, along with Castiel sat later that night skimming through Bobby's collection of old books. Cas on the other hand only seemed to be absentmindedly turning pages not even attempting to read what was written on them. With every lazy turn, the fallen angle took a sip from the whisky bottle he always seemed to have on him. The sight put off Dean. They were in the middle of yet another crisis and Cas wasn't even trying.

"Why are you even here?" Dean pried harshly, unable to keep to himself any longer.

Castiel turned another page as he spoke, still staring blankly at it. "The angels left me here when Lucifer took control, most likely as some form of punishment for what I did."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose shaking his head. "No. I mean, why are you here in this cabin. Right now?"

His solemn blue eyes looked at Dean but he said nothing for a long time. "I'm sorry you and Sam have been put through this, but you won't find any answers in these books." He sighed and took another drink. "I don't even know for sure how or if what the demons said is possible- it's all based on blood lines. But if it is true, than we can't let Lucifer get his new vessel."

Sam's brows furrowed. "You make it seem like this time if he gets his true vessel it'll be worse."

Cas threw his head back and downed what was left of the bottle of whiskey and looked to the youngest Winchester. "It will be."

* * *

**A/N: LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT PRETTY PLEASE! **


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